


Compatible Faults

by Hello_Spikey



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-21
Updated: 2008-06-30
Packaged: 2019-06-14 04:48:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 31
Words: 92,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15380985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hello_Spikey/pseuds/Hello_Spikey
Summary: Okay, so as I'vethreatenedpromised, here is a new Spangel fic. It's gonna be long and involved and basically a re-write of Season Five if Season Five was about nothing but the Spangel.We're starting out at the end of the episode Destiny.  Because I'm not good enough to write ghostie Spike. :P





	1. Destiny

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Not for a while, but there will be Spike/Lindsey as well as Spike/Angel and there will be some darkness. Angel might end up kind of a dick. (grins) and Spike WILL get hurt. You know he will. A lot. It's my fic! :P

Spike materialized with a book of matches (mostly full, from the Alibi Room), seven cigarettes in a crumpled pack, his flask (empty), a wooden stake (sharp end broken), three dollar bills folded into a silver money clip decorated with an Indian-head nickel (stolen off a mark nearly a decade ago but kept because it was good and weighty and really worked), and fifty-three cents (five dimes, he remembered now the deli had been out of quarters, the old man’s gnarled fingers shaking as he fussed with the slippery little coins, handing Spike his change from the last pint of blood he bought in Sunnydale. Come to think of the timing, it might have been the last pint ever SOLD in that doomed burg.)

These items he laid out carefully on the narrow counter in the Wolfram and Hart men’s room. There was something poetic, something solemn, about cigarettes from beyond the grave. These dimes had seen the path immortal. This misshapen chunk of wood passed beyond the pale and remained to tell the tale.

He’d already smoked one of the cigarettes. It was his post-fight fag, and his first post-incorporeal fag, in the still desert twilight outside of the opera house. His skin still jumped at the thrill of fire, his lungs still burned in the old way, welcomed the draw and the comfort. It had been thoroughly enjoyed, but he felt a little guilty, because he hadn’t stopped to think about it – the import of these immortal ciggies – until he was grinding the butt under his boot. He toyed briefly with the idea of never smoking the rest. Never striking these matches. They were priceless relics of the lost city of Sunnydale! Thank god they’d survived the stupid battle over the stupid cup. Still he had straightened the crumpled cigarettes like the limbs of a much-beloved and delicate pet, soothing them into a semblance of their former selves and slipping them back into the pack (itself smoothed against the counter and urged back into a square-ish shape) one at a time.

Bugger that. He swept the collection of junk off the counter and tucked everything in its proper place again. Flask and stake inside right pocket, money in jeans, fags and matches in his left outer pocket, loose change in right outer pocket. There. His wealth was secured.

Christ, imagine if he hadn’t worn the duster to the battle? He’d have nothing but the money-clip and three wrinkled dollars, looking like the last leaves of a drought. But even then, he’d have more than he deserved, more than was reasonable even to expect. He had one undead body. He had feet in his boots. Hell, he had his boots – and these were the most comfortable pair he’d had in decades, just broken in enough. And his jeans – not his best pair, but the pair that had been clean, that morning.

He leaned on the narrow counter, studied the empty restroom in the mirror and allowed himself a moment to mourn the washing machine. The box of powder. The kewpie-doll elf that hung out of the edge of the box of Christmas ornaments on that shelf over the laundry sink. Revello drive. They’d told him – it was Fred who’d filled him in – how Sunnydale was completely obliterated. The theatre. The Bronze. All of it gone, and him, here, still smelling the fabric softener on his jeans, re-created by magic along with him and three dollars and fifty-three cents.

Blood dropped onto the counter. Three little drops, randomly spaced. He felt his face, fingers stinging over an unmapped network of injury. Right. He was supposed to be setting himself to rights. That was the plan, the reason he’d come back. He knew they’d have soap and hot water and towels and no reason to turn him away. It certainly wasn’t to return the old pouf’s car. He wasn’t that moral. Property rights were the furthest thing from his mind. It was just the best, most logical place to tend his injuries. That was the plan.

Plan. What plan? The giddiness of freedom, of being whole again, had to coalesce back down into putting one foot in front of another. If he wished to continue putting one foot in front of the other, he needed blood. A pint of pig’s blood had been $8.95 plus tax at the butcher’s in Sunnydale. Considering reduced volume vampire-wise and increased cost of living, it was probably more here in Hell-A.

He took out his silver money clip and flipped it around in his hands. Right. When in doubt, hock. Pawn shops were sweetly ubiquitous. He had a plan. Hock what he could – the flask was worth something too, he thought, even though it was steel not silver. Buy blood. Find a place to sleep. All the other questions (How to find Buffy? SHOULD he find Buffy? Why was he still alive? Did he have a purpose?) could wait. God, they could wait forever while he put one foot in front of the other.

He snatched another towel from the dispenser and wiped up his blood, tossed it in the bin with all the other blood-splattered paper towels he’d crumpled up, cleaning himself up from the fight.

It was early morning – three or four ish; he’d glanced at the clock in the hall on his way in. Pawn shops wouldn’t be open. Two or three hours of dark left to find a place to sleep. Shame they were on the good side of town. He’d be walking some time before he rested. Best to get started.

Angel stood in the lobby, hands in his pockets, waiting like a man on a subway platform. Spike kept his gaze away from him, straightened his shoulders and headed to the exit.

“Where are you going?”

Spike whirled on one heel. Angel hadn’t moved. “Out. Giving up the haunting gig. It’s been real, Peaches. Let’s not do it again.”

Angel turned his head, but not his body, looking to Spike’s left. “You have no place to go.”

“Sure I do. It’s called ‘away from here’ and I hear it’s lovely this time of year.”

“Spike.” Angel stepped between Spike and the door. “You can’t just leave.”

“Why?”

Angel’s jaw worked, his eyes darting around the room. “You owe Fred a good-bye, at least.”

“And?”

NOW Angel looked at him. Brown eyes intent. “And I can’t unleash you on the unsuspecting world.”

Spike staggered back, a hand on his chest. “Unleash me? Have you forgotten I just fought for a cup of bleedin’ torment? What the hell do you think I am, Angelus?”

Angel looked away again, jaw clenched hard.

Spike held up a hand. “I’ll be back to wish Fred farewell,” he said, and slipped out the door.

Angel clenched his fists inside his pants pockets and watched Spike trying to swagger down the brightly-lit front walk of Wolfram and Hart, almost but not quite hiding how injured he was. Maybe he was hiding it, to eyes that didn’t know him so well.

Angel walked back up to the executive floor, nothing on his mind but bed. He had no idea why he stopped at the security office. The officer on duty stood up, spine straight, hands quickly shoving his magazine behind his back. “Sir. What can I do for you?”

Angel leaned against the doorframe, trying to make it look like a casual move and not much-needed support. “I want Spike tailed.”

“Of course, sir. We’re already tracking him.”

Angel’s eyebrows rose. “Oh? Um…”

“It’s standard procedure, sir. Any entity that directly assaults a member of senior management…”

“No, no, that’s good. I… just keep me posted.”

“Yes, sir.”

The security guard’s eager smile scared Angel. Never mind the guilt – guilt he felt like his own weight, like the smell of air – it was so omnipresent you stopped being able to notice. He was using the resources. Growing attached to the resources. A private army, keeping tabs on people he wanted tabs kept on. Was he still a champion? Bargaining and balancing a line that was grey and getting greyer. And, in the end, Spike had won the cup.

He took a long route back to his apartment, checking to see if Gunn or Wes or Fred were around, even Lorne, maybe, pulling a late night. For once they’d all gone home. He wanted someone to talk to, someone to assure him he was making the right choices, that the mission was going to benefit from this, that he was still ‘the one’.

But Spike had won. Spike never beat him. Never. Angel never feared that Spike MIGHT beat him.

But it was a long, long time since Spike had been newly-dead, with more enthusiasm by far than experience, rushing at a patient Angelus with no grace or guile and laughing when he was easily thrown on his back.

Angelus had never taught someone how to fight before. No one had taught him but the rough schoolmasters of the Galaway pubs and that relentless task mistress “experience”. Certainly Darla hadn’t taught him. Darla wasn’t a fighter. Guns were developed and made small just for her delicate hands. When there wasn’t a pistol or crossbow to be had, her preferred weapon was a smile. She brought him into the world of vampirism as to society. They were civilized monsters, eating only the best people and never mussing an evening coat. Darla taught him to make meals leap effortlessly into his mouth. There was no need for violence, unless it added to the artistry of the moment.

Spike, however, had taken it in his head that his preternatural strength and speed had no higher purpose than to be flaunted in the face of the biggest brutes he could taunt out of the dockside taverns. And so the boy needed to be taught.

That was quite what Darla had said, tossing her shawl over a bare shoulder as he carried a beaten and bloody William back to their lair over HIS shoulder. “The boy must be taught, Angelus, and Drusilla isn’t going to do it.”

And how pleased William had been to be taught! Proud, adoring! He looked to Angelus with the absolute certainty that this ne’er-do-well turned vampire gentleman knew all there was to know about everything, and especially fighting.

Angelus had contracted a few lessons with a famous pugilist when he felt himself starting to run out of material. Angelus wasn’t too proud to fake a test. Five years later he’d slipped off on his own quest to the east and martial masters there, and even then couldn’t deny it was partially to keep the edge he had over his protégé.

Yes, Spike had been an apt pupil, and certainly practiced what he was taught every chance he got, but even when Angel had met Spike again, a soul and decades apart, he’d assumed, deep in his heart, that if it came to a knock-down, drag-out fight, Angel would come out on top. Maybe just because he remembered those first few lessons, remembered that fumbling little gentleman, trying to make himself over as a thug.

Which was stupid. Infuriating. Why would anyone want to be what Liam was?

Angel lay awake longer than he wanted, feeling sore in his bones and thinking “Spike did this. This pain is from Spike’s fists.”

He didn’t know how it made him feel, just that he FELT, and it was unbearably potent and indescribable and as hard to look at as the sun and he didn’t want to feel it anymore.

He called down to the night concierge and got sleeping pills delivered with another glass of otter’s blood and didn’t feel the least bit guilty for the privilege.

Spike walked until the sky was beginning to lighten. He found a pawn shop and worked in a spiral out from it, testing doors and windows until he found an abandoned shop with a broken lock, the interior spread with cardboard and bottles and the piss-sweat-rot smell of vagrancy. But the windows were boarded up and there was enough clean cardboard to make a sort of nest against the far western corner. He bundled up his duster under his head and lay down to a chorus of gratitude from injured and stressed muscles, hard-worked and ready for sleep. Was his body exactly as it was, then? Was there fatigue still in place from the battle on the hellmouth? The throbbing bone-bruise on his left forearm: Angel or Uber-vamp? He must not have noticed, before, since feeling anything at all was so glorious after feeling nothing. But now he felt like he’d been awake for a week, and his mind shut down almost as soon as his eyes closed.


	2. Destiny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place between "Destiny" and "Harm's Way".
> 
> Warnings for Angel being a jerk and both boys being a bit thick.
> 
> Thank you **dreamsofspike** and **devonkmiller** for your beta-readings! Even if I disagree about putting spaces after ellipses! I hope your combined input has made the chapter stronger. Devon mentioned that it reads more Spuffy than Spangel at this point - yeah... Spike's hung up, isn't he? But he'll come to his senses in the next chappie! :D

The next morning, Angel didn’t remember why he’d ordered a report from security but sat down to read it while sipping his blood.

He remembered soon enough.

“Subject” the report called him, in parentheses, “William the Bloody, AKA Spike; Xref Aurelius, Order of; Slayer, The”.

“Subject” had walked south for several blocks, and then started wandering randomly. He had spent the day so far in a vacant storefront on the shittiest side of town. There was a nice night-vision photo of Spike, curled on his side among cardboard and graffiti - a shot of the storefront, too. According to the report he was still asleep as of 8:45 am, when the report was filed.

Angel wanted to crumple the photo in his hands. In fact, after a few seconds of chiding himself that that would be childish and irresponsible, he did. Then he un-crumpled it so he could rip it up.

Living like a vagrant – was Spike purposefully making every part of his life a mockery of Angel’s?

Harmony flounced in with more manila folders and another mug. These she spread out on his desk in a precise order which she had devised and he had yet to cotton to. Last she set the mug down behind the one he was drinking and twisted the handle to face him. “Double food today, bossy, you’re healing.”

Angel felt his forehead. “Harmony…” She froze in place like a spotlighted deer, her hands close together against the double row of buttons on her suit-coat. But Angel had only _wanted_ to yell at Harmony, he had no reason, and as he searched his mind, her appearance, and the papers before him for one, time ticked on and Harmony relaxed.

“I’ll be back for the signed requisitions in half an hour,” she said, pointing at one stack of papers and then flouncing out of his office.

***

Spike woke with a start, hands grasping for an edge as he fell in his dream, only to slap ineffectually at the litter-strewn floor. He sighed, and then regretted it because the great intake of breath brought the subtle and varied bouquet of his surroundings to his nose. He sat up, felt his hair. Gel was going to be a problem, and should probably be ignored as a luxury, but damn it made him anxious to think of himself all curly-haired and dandy.

He smoked Cigarette Six, looking down occasionally at the other five, rolling them back and forth in the pack. He considered hunting rats for food and saving his money for more fags, booze, and some hair gel.

The door he’d entered faced west – of course it did – and the sunlight just managed to clear the building on the other side of the alley and shine on it. It was a long time until sunset. He drew his duster over his head and ran for the shady side of the alley, then paced the confines of shadow.

He hopscotched his way to the pawn shop, from shadow to shadow, like some fool in a suede coat avoiding the rain. Or a lungfish going from puddle to puddle. Spike amused himself trying on similes as he patted flames off his sleeves.

They had Zippo lighters in the display case, a whole mess of them and a hand-lettered sign eagerly declaring them genuine. Made Spike wish he still had his. Collector’s item, these days, and his was original mark. But he’d given it to Faith. He briefly imagined finding her. She’d have to offer it back… no, he’d insist she keep it. Taking it back would be low. He’d been in a bequeathing mood all that last week: gave out every one of his rings, his necklaces and bracelets, the manly jewelry repurposed on deceptively delicate slayer wrists. Buffy wouldn’t take anything – she looked out of the corner of her eye at the ring he offered, either thinking about the last time he’d offered her a ring, or about the morally decrepit way he had to have gotten it. “I just stole it,” he assured her, “off a tray of ‘em, street seller on Fifth Avenue.” She had opened and closed her mouth, looked at him in that blank way that characterized their delicate non-communications those last few days, and turned away silently.

Death threats and all, Dawn had cried when he slipped his devil-head ring onto her thumb the morning before the battle. It had a little key hanging from its mouth, which he pointed out. Saved it for her special. From her expression, Dawn knew as well as he did that he wouldn’t be coming back.

They don’t make “must be worn by a champion” amulets that don’t kill you.

Well, except, of course, that he was still here. And damn if he couldn’t have brought a few more valuables to the grave.

The silver money clip and the flask netted him forty-five dollars, which he knew was a rip-off, but you went into pawn shops expecting to be ripped off. They’d probably sell the clip for eighty or more. One similar to it in their jewelry case was marked $110. Greedy bastards. Still, it was enough for his needs. He leaned against the storefront as dusk took over the street, counting the bills and considering forgoing blood and fags for a bus ticket. Should be enough to get him…

Get him where? He had no idea where Buffy had gone. Where any of them were, now that Sunny-D was no more. The whole vastness of the world was before him, no chains, no obligations holding him… and he had nowhere to go. Angel was right.

Angel.

There was a whole mess of better-left-unsaid. He’d tried to keep their interactions light, playing “bait the poof” for his own entertainment and because pretending they had nothing worse than a sibling rivalry was better than actually dealing with all they had been and done to each other. Well, a cup of Mountain Dew had ruined that, hadn’t it?

Angel was a collection of thoughts and memories painful to contemplate. He thought Angel felt the same way about him – would be holding the door wide and wishing him good-riddance the second his feet were solid.

And then he said, “You can’t just leave.”

He pocketed the money – only a little annoyed that he didn’t have a clip to keep it neat in his pocket – and turned up the street. He still had to say good-bye to Fred.

***

“What are you trying to do?”

Angel came storming across the second floor lobby to accost Spike at the top of the stairs. Spike glanced behind himself to see if there was someone else this bellicose greeting was meant for. “Came to give science girl my regards, poof. Like I said I would.”

But Angel didn’t stop charging forward, only snagged Spike’s arm and flung him ahead, against the nearest convenient wall. Drywall groaned.

Spike squirmed to get the forearm off his neck. “You want a re-match all you have to do is ask, Peaches. Never get enough of kicking your arse.”

Angel pushed him into the wall once more then stepped back. His face was that closed mask he wore when truly brassed off. “I have a bed. I have a whole building you could sleep in and you go curl up in some corner like a hobo.”

Spike halted his struggle to squint at him. “You havin’ me followed?”

Angel was up in his face, breathing hard through his nose like a bull about to charge. “Do I have to?”

“What kind of answer is that?” Spike pushed Angel off of him at last. “You bug-shaggin’ crazy wanker – you WERE having me followed, weren’t you?”

Angel paced, staying close, never taking his eyes off Spike, never leaving more than two feet of open space between them lest he escape. “Where are you going, Spike? What can you possibly do with forty dollars and change? Are you going to find Buffy? Do you know where she is? I do. Here’s a hint: not in the continental U.S. Planning on swimming?”

Spike relaxed against the wall he’d been thrown against, strangely relieved to have it all out in the open, then. Of course Angel had him followed. Had a whole big organization now, his sire did. And getting him to apologize for the gross invasion of privacy would be rather like getting water to roll uphill. Not that it wasn’t entirely undeserved: Spike had haunted the bugger, poked his nose in his closet, counted his shoes in the wee hours when there was nothing else to do. And there were more than a few ‘boo’ incidents, popping out of walls, the surface of the desk, the mirror… timing it so Angel had a mouth full of blood or toothpaste or coffee… Spike almost smiled, remembering.  
  
“Answer me.” Angel stopped pacing, folded his arms. He looked distressed, like Spike was about to tell him some tragic news he wasn’t supposed to know, but did, like that his mum had cancer or something.

Spike fingered his last five cigarettes, comforting and familiar in his left pocket. “Dunno. Get as far as it’ll take me. Search until I find something, or until I’m found.”

Angel lowered his head a moment. When he raised it again, his eyes were steady; the fire of rage banked just a bit. “You’re going to stay here. You need a place to stay, and I have one. You can take a guest suite. You’ll be provided with blood and shelter until you work up the cash to get wherever it is you want to go.”

Spike gaped in amazement. Only Angel could make an offer sound like a punishment. Lips barely moving, numb, he said, “Don’t want your charity.”

“It’s not charity and I’m not offering; I’m ordering.”

“Don’t want your orders, either!”

Gunn had stopped, a few words back, a few feet back, briefcase in hand. Now that a moment’s pause opened between the vampires and it looked like Angel was going to surge forward and damage the scenery some more, Gunn dropped the briefcase and stepped between them. “Hey. What’s going on here?”

“Spike has nowhere to stay. No…” Angel shook his head, like a dog dislodging rainwater. “He’s breaking and entering. Living like… and killing!”

Spike’s scowl of irritation opened into disbelief. “I’ve what, then?”

Gunn took a hasty three steps back. Around the open lobby, people scattered like droplets of oil from a soap bubble.

Angel said, “You know what you’ve done.”

Spike squinted at him. “You’re not talkin’ about that _rat_ , are you?”

He saw security men arranging themselves at the exits, their wooden-tipped nightsticks at the ready. “I don’t believe this.” He looked at Gunn. “Granddad’s afraid I’m shaming the noble Aurelius family!”

“No, I’m not.”

Spike’s grin opened wide. “Yeah. You are. Like you’ve never nipped a little vermin on the side. Hell, even when I was soulless, freight travel we…”

Angel turned on his heel and stormed away. “I’ll be in my office. He doesn’t leave.”

Gunn raised both eyebrows and turned pointedly to regard Spike.

“I didn’t kill anyone,” Spike said, adjusting his coat-collar. “Was a rat. Had to grab ‘n go.”

“We have equipment that can test a vampire for the presence of human blood,” Gunn said.

“Hoo-bloody-rah. Cart it out then and call off the rent-a-cops. ‘M not a criminal. Not anymore.”

Gunn looked to an aide and nodded. The man hurried away, presumably to get the blood testing equipment. Gunn put his hands in his pockets. “Want to fill me in on what that was all about, Blondie?”

“I’m a real boy again, Charlie. Don’t much fancy joining you all on the slow slide to corporate corruption, so I’m heading off. Though if I didn’t know better, I’d think old grand-sire’s already missing me.”

“What did you do to piss him off?”

Spike sighed and rolled his eyes ceiling-ward. “Where do we start?”

“Right, well, come on back to my office,” Gunn turned and picked up his briefcase from where he had dropped it. “We can talk privately while the doc’s on his way.”

***

Angel paced his office. Harmony came in, took one look, and retreated looking like he’d kicked her.

Angel wasn’t so lacking in self-knowledge that he didn’t know he was being unreasonable. But it was Spike’s fault! How could he feel reasonable when Spike was here?

He should just let him go. Give him the price of a plane ticket to anywhere. Hell, give him a car. It was hard enough, stressful enough dealing with the daily indignities of Wolfram and Hart, without William the Bloody making him feel…

Small. Spike made him feel small, somehow.

Angel went to the desk and opened his rolodex to a much-thumbed, never-used card.

They hadn’t stopped by, after the big battle, though Angel had been preparing rooms at the Hyperion, laying in medical supplies. He had expected, he had assumed, that Buffy would lead her rag-tag band of survivors to him. But she hadn’t. She’d called from a motel in San Jose, two days later, to give him the number where they were going, and to say that Spike was dead. She told all this to Harmony. Angel had been out. He never knew how she said it, what more was implied in her voice.

Gritting his teeth, he dialed. A man answered. “Hello?”

“Giles.”

“Angelus.”

Angel gritted his teeth even tighter. “I was calling to talk to Buffy.”

“How very nice. I’ll be sure to relay your request.”

“Damn it, Giles, I haven’t lost my soul. Why do people keep _assuming_ that? It only happened twice!”

“I didn’t say that you had. Rather I suspect you’ve lost your mind, Angelus.”

“It’s Angel. I haven’t lost my soul, or my mind.”

He could hear Giles moving papers. “Ah, yes, because it’s always such a good idea to sign a contract when the devil presents one.”

“It wasn’t the devil. And the deal is valid. We can do a lot of good.”

“And what was the price of this limitless wealth and power?”

“There was no price.”

“That alone should let you know you’re being had. Honestly, Angel, are you two hundred or twelve?”

Angel clamped down on an angry response. It burned in his chest. “I just wanted to talk to Buffy about Spike, okay? We might be the only two people who mourned his passing and… you all left California so quickly we never got a chance.”

There was a pause.

“Hello? Giles?”

“He was a brave man,” Giles said, quietly, “at the end.”

Angel lost the ability to draw breath, for a second, and couldn’t speak. He coughed. “Will you give Buffy my message?”

“Yes. Forgive me, Angel. I… we don’t know how to take this thing that you’ve done. I hope… I hope you’ll prove me wrong. As Spike did.”

A thread of anger returned to Angel. He nodded, forgetting Giles couldn’t see. “Uh… I hope so too,” he said, and the words sounded small and false.

He hung up. Alone, in his office, he began to feel a little relieved Buffy hadn’t been there. He wasn’t sure what it was he wanted to say to her, or to hear in return.

***

“Sorry, man, you know we have to make sure.” Gunn stepped back, hands clasped behind him as the blood technician left.

“S’alright. Guess I have one of those faces,” Spike said, shrugging back into his duster.

Gunn scowled. “This isn’t about trusting you, man. It’s about… about being sure. Hell, you were a GHOST just two days ago. Have to say, never thought about you bein’ a vamp too.”

“Just like Angel, ain’t I? Thought getting a soul would give me the same free pass he always gets. Just got me a load of guilt.”

Gunn fell into the guest chair in front of his desk. “You should stay. You know that, right? Old man is offering you room and board – take it.”

“I dunno. There’s always a price with Angelus. You don’t stay with him without bein’ _his_.”

Gunn squinted. “Man, Angel ain’t like that. How long has it been since you’ve known him?”

Spike shrugged. “Don’t know Angel. You’re right there. Maybe… maybe I thought I understood him. But then he says something, and I realize, no, I don’t. I knew Angelus pretty well, though.” He frowned in thought.

“Stay. Come on. You saved Fred’s life. We owe you.”

“Suspect Himself’s saved her a few more times.”

Gunn shrugged. “We keeping score?”

Spike shrugged too. “Angel says he knows where Buffy is. Suppose I’d better wait, at least, ‘til he cools off, so’s I can ask him. Can’t take longer than I’d save, you know, looking for her. Assuming the old git will part with the information.”

“I heard about Buffy. She’s that girl who died and came back?”

“Yeah,” Spike said, quietly, looking at the carpet. “Yeah, she did.”

“You and her?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t wait, then, and don’t hesitate. You have a girl, and you love her, you go to Angel, get her address, and go.”

Spike looked up. “You’re a bit of all right, Charlie.”

“I’d say thanks if I thought there was any way I could convince you to stop calling me ‘Charlie’.”

“There ain’t and I won’t.” Spike held out his hand.

Gunn took it. “Come on, let’s find you a place to stay.”


	3. Harm’s Way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place during "Harm's Way".

_Angelus drew him in to a kiss and his lips opened in surrender, his body pliant against him, on him, under him._

_He called him “Sire.”_

_Sure, it was because Angelus had told him to, and the boy didn’t know any better, but it thrilled him just the same. Drusilla never called him that; she couldn’t be made to. It was what Darla called The Master, at her most devoted moments, a little breathy, blushing like she wasn’t a centuries-old whore. Of course he wanted that. Sire. God, the cockstand he got hearing it. And William saw that, his expression changed, he repeated the word slower, watching his reaction, grinning in triumph when Angelus couldn’t suppress a groan._

_“Now I’m gonna have to punish you, boy.”_

_And he stretched cat-like, arms reaching up to grab the headboard. “Why do I think that’s not going to be a hardship?”_

Angel awoke with an aching erection feeling vaguely put-upon. It was a stupid memory, and anyway, it wasn’t his. Not really. Why should he have to deal with Angelus’ leftover hard-on?

Angel knew he was being self-contradictory and maybe a little mad. (Disassociation with self, personification of traits we dislike. Coping strategies. He’d read too much on the subject.) He tried not to think on it as he stomped his way to the shower.

***

Spike answered the door shirtless, patting his neck and shoulders with a towel. “Fred,” he grinned, “Come on in. Give us a mo’.”

She had her arms around him before he could back up. “Nuh-uh, mister! I want to greet you like one corporeal body to another!” She kissed his cheek before letting him go. “You smell all soapy.”

“Yeah. They have this great new invention here, called a shower. Appears you use soap in ‘em.” He threw the towel at the bed and picked up his t-shirt.

“This is nice.” Fred walked all the way into the room, glancing out window, taking in the hotel-like surroundings. “I didn’t even know we HAD guest suites. But I guess, when some of your clients can’t go out in the sunlight, you make arrangements. Didja get enough to eat last night? I could getcha some more.”

He tugged the t-shirt down. “Wouldn’t say no to a cuppa for the road.”

Fred watched him shrug into his duster. She sat on the bed. “Oh, Spike,” she said. “You don’t have to go anywhere. You know that, right? Even if Angel’s being a bit, well, stuffy, Wes and Charles and I just love having you around.”

He looked thoughtfully at a crumpled pack of cigarettes. He shook one out and rolled it between his fingers. “There’s evil in this place, love. You can smell it, feel it. It’s in the texture on the walls and the filters on the lights.”

“Buildings aren’t evil, silly. It’s what you do in them. And we’re gonna do a lot of good, you’ll see. Why, already with the equipment at my disposal I’ve learned so much about the interaction of magic and technology! A day could come when we aren’t stymied by magic anymore, when there’ll be rules we can point to and say ‘aha! Take that magic! I know how you work!’ And we’re making that happen.”

Spike shook his head. “Power, pet. Temptation and corruption. This is the good old-fashioned kind of evil. No one’s immune. This is the sort of shit turns Einsteins into Oppenheimers.”

Fred threw a teasing punch at his arm as he lit his cigarette. “There’s nothing evil about Oppenheimer. Modern theoretical physics owes a debt to that man!”

Spike smiled in that head-tilting way that acknowledged his own short-coming. “Bad metaphor for science-girl, eh? You get what I mean, though, don’t you, love? You want to stay here and watch your research get twisted into something evil? Something eats the skin off babies?”

“It won’t.” She poked his chest.

“Why not?”

“My contract lets me keep all my patents.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Well thank god we have patent law on our side.”

“Let me get you some blood, kay? And you just don’t make any plans to leave until you have a full belly and a chance to talk with everyone.”

“’S not a committee decision, love. I’m my own vampire.”

“Well, I’m hungry, and they keep blood in the commissary and they also keep tacos in the commissary. Oo… and cinnamon rolls. Come on!”

Laughing around his still unlit cigarette, he let Fred drag him from the room.

***

Harmony stood in the open door of Angel’s office. She turned to Spike as he approached with a desperate, “save me” look that had Spike wondering what the old git could be doing to traumatize the evil bint.

There was a red demon-head lying on the carpet a few feet from her open-toed sandals. Ah. “Once again, keeping corporate America safe from evil.”

“Spike,” said Gunn, nodding from behind the demon corpse.

“Fred,” said Wesley, looking past Spike’s shoulder.

Angel just straightened and adjusted his grip on his ax.

Gunn grinned and shook his head in mock concern, “Hardest part of the job, terminating an employee.”

Spike raised a hand. “Thought I’d come in, say my final farewells.”

Wesley frowned. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. The Sanshu prophecy is yet unresolved and…”

“It’s Angel’s bloody destiny and he’s welcome to it, whether he deserves it or not. I’ve got better things to do.”

“Why don’t you stop saying goodbye then, and go,” Angel said.

“Thing of it is, I need an address. And maybe some walking-around money. You know, so I don’t shame the Aurelius name. I figure a few hundred ought to get me wherever I need to go.”

“How about no.”

“You said you’d tell me.”

Angel shifted his shoulders. “I said I knew. I’d rather gargle holy water than tell you.”

“You selfish old sod!”

“Selfish?” Angel lifted the ax to a ready position.

“Hey now,” Gunn held up a hand. “Let’s not go terminating good guys.”

“He’s not a good guy, Gunn. He’s a pain in my ass.”

Spike scowled. “I have a soul.”

“Yeah, but I don’t think yours works right.”

Spike squared up against Angel, who raised his ax just an inch more. “I’m thinking you’re the one with the problem. Seems like all the Armani in the air is sucking the soulful guilt out of you. Was it really about the good fight, Angelus? Or did the devils offer you a little something extra?” Spike tilted his head back to regard Angel in the eye, in that way of his that somehow negated the height difference.

Angel felt Gunn’s hand on his shoulder. “Ax,” the lawyer said.

Angel grudgingly let Gunn take the ax from him, though he never took his eyes off Spike.

“I think we should calm down and discuss this like civilized adults,” Wes said.

Gunn smirked. “Not happening with these two. I suggest we leave them to have their tearful goodbye.”

Fred made a small worried sound. “We don’t know if there’ve been any side-affects of the recoporealization. I should really take Spike to the lab!”

Harmony had already made a discrete exit. Wes took Fred’s arm and stepped out of the office, followed by Gunn.

At her desk, Harmony was dabbing tears away from her overly made-up eyes. “Blondie-bear doesn’t even care enough about me to say good-bye.”

Fred gave her a sympathetic glance – but not too long a one because Harmony was still a vampire and technically a scary monster.

Spike and Angel stood silent while the others left. Spike took a half a step back, lowering his shoulders a bit. “I hate you, you hate me, so what the fuck, Angel? All I need is an address and I’ll be out of your hair for good.”

“The last thing Buffy needs is another vampire in her life.” Angel didn’t move a muscle.

“Why don’t you let Buffy decide that, eh?”

“She already did, and she told me. She’s cookie-dough.”

Spike squinted. “What?”

Angel rolled his eyes and hit his fists together. “It’s a metaphor. When the cookies are ready she’s ready for a relationship, which she more or less implied would be with… the point is – before you died, she didn’t want anything to do with you.”

“She said she loves me!”

“Yeah? How many blow-jobs did that take?”

Spike stared in disbelief.

Angel tilted his head, smiling his flat, smug smile. “Come on, Spike! I saw you with Dru. I know how you work. She’d never love you so you parked yourself between her thighs and didn’t come up for air until she was hooked.”

Angel took a step forward and noted with triumph that Spike took a step back. “Hell,” he shrugged, “It’s why Angelus kept you around.”

There was hurt in Spike’s eyes. “I can’t believe you even fuckin’ said that.”

Angel advanced; Spike retreated. They reached the wall. Angel closed the distance. He felt a flush of warmth, excitement.

Then, suddenly, Spike’s fear sloughed off like an old coat. He darted to the side, smiling. “Oh, I get it! I can’t believe I missed this!” He shook his finger. “You aren’t keeping me here out of some concern for Buffy or humanity. You want my hot little bod.”

“I… you have a pretty big opinion of yourself.”

“Wonder who I learned that from.” Walking backwards, Spike ran a hand over his abdomen with obvious relish. “Must have driven you crazy, having me all ghosty and unshaggable. How’d you control yourself, mate, when I solidified? Must have burst a vessel when I ran off with Harm. You have to take yourself in hand? Did you fear for your immortal soul?”

Spike danced back, laughing as Angel lunged to grab him.

“Got nothing to say, nancy? Must be true, then.”

Angel growled. “I’m not playing this immature game with you.”

“Really?” Spike raised his face and took an exaggerated breath, “smells like you can’t get enough of it.” He poked his tongue out between his teeth in one of his patented mocking leers.

With renewed anger, Angel grabbed his progeny and pinned him to the wall. Windows rattled. And despite the fact that he’d done this, grabbed Spike, specifically to deny that he felt any attraction, now, having their bodies so close he had to press in, taking a deep breath through his mouth, tasting the familiar scent. He gasped, eyes widening.

Panic flashed on Spike’s face, followed by a determined frown. He brought his knee up between them and pushed Angel back.

Out in the lobby, Harmony winced as the thumps and crashes in Angel’s office got more frequent. She looked thoughtfully at the phone for a minute, then shook her head and turned up her iPod.

“Aren’t you going to do something about that?” the mailman hissed over his cart.

Harmony shrugged. “Security’s got a feed in there. Things get real messy, they’ll come up. Or, you know, it looks like Bossy is losing.”

Lorne walked across the reception area just as a particularly loud wall-shaking crash occurred. He pivoted on one heel and went back the way he’d come.

The door burst open and Spike tumbled out, followed by a glowering Angl.

“You right bastard!” Spike touched his chest. Black cotton hung loose like a wound. “You ripped my shirt.”

“I’m not telling you where Buffy is. And I’m not giving you money, either. You leave here, you leave on your own.”

“You’re a dick, Angelus. You know, that, right? What am I supposed to do? This is my only fucking shirt!”

“That’s not my fault.”

“Yes it fucking is. It was your bloody amulet got me into this mess!”

“Get out of my office, Spike. In fact, get out of my city. I don’t need you and I don’t want you.”

“Ha! Changing the tune mighty fast there, grandpa!”

“Harmony! Security.”

Harmony snatched up the phone in response to her boss’ demand, but bit her lower lip, considering. If she had Spike thrown out by security, that would _really_ ruin her chances with him!

“Harmony!”

“Piss off, Angel, I’m leaving! Watch my perfectly sculpted ass walk out the door, ‘cause that’s as close as you’ll get to it.” Spike swaggered into a turn and walked down the stairs.

Harmony cradled the phone against her cheek, confident she’d made the right decision in hesitating. “Do you want me to send security after him, Bossy?”

Angel didn’t glance at her or acknowledge she’d spoken, turning back into his office and closing the doors behind him.

***

Fred ran to catch Spike at the front doors. “Wait! Stop!”

He turned with an expectant eyebrow raise. His hand flat on his stomach made him look a little like he was about to bow. He was holding the ripped pieces of his shirt together.

“Oh heck,” Fred said, grimacing in sympathy. “But still, it’s no reason to go out into the sunlight!”

Spike rolled his eyes. “I was going out through the car park. Where it’s shaded.”

Fred reached forward tentatively. “But then what? Spike, you shouldn’t go. At least stay until dark!”

“Figured I’d nick some of granddad’s wheels. He owes me that much, the tosser.”

She had to run around in front of him to block his path. “I can’t condone theft of a vehicle!”

“C’mon, they’re soulless corporate property.”

“OUR soulless corporate property.”

He sighed, looking at the ceiling. “See, this is the whole problem love. Why NOT run the place into the ground? Save a few more people than you would have in the process, get kicked out, go back to the Angel-cave and do things the slow icky un-funded way.”

“We’ll save a lot more if we can keep things going.”

“Maybe. Anyway can’t believe I’m the one advocating the morally responsible, less fun route. Can’t suck saving the day when you have your own helicopter.”

Fred crossed her arms. “You aren’t changing the subject, mister. And you aren’t leaving.”

“Give me one reason to stay.”

Without hesitation, she said, “It’ll piss Angel off.”

He paused, mouth open, closed it, and ducked his head. “Hell. That’s a good reason.”

“So you’ll stay?”

He smirked. “Maybe. Still gotta get my ass to Wal-mart before they close.”

“Oh god! Don’t go there! They’re evil. I mean… they’re on the client list. Several times.”

He nodded and walked around her, raising one arm in farewell. Fred hugged herself. “He’s still going to steal a car,” she said to herself, and shook her head.

***

“Why is he so untouched? Was he that less of a monster? Spike has done bad things. I know he has because I taught him to do them! And it weighs on my conscience. Why am I more guilty over his sins than he is?”

Wesley closed his book and looked up with that tiny smile that said so very loudly “You are being a complete prat but I forgive you for it.”

What he said out loud was, “Angel, aren’t you obsessing a bit much? Spike is dealing with his soul in his own way.”

“He isn’t dealing with it at all. One hundred years, Wes! Two weeks!”

The tiny smile was joined by the barely-perceptible eye-roll of watcherly superiority. “If it will make you concentrate on the peace treaty, Angel, I can say with certainty that Spike is nowhere near dealing with the full ramifications of his soul.”

Angel turned a somewhat pathetically hopeful expression on his friend. “You aren’t just saying that?”

Wes leaned back from his papers, since he wasn’t going to get any useful work done until Angel was mollified. “I would say that he exhibits classic behaviors indicative of deep insecurity.”

“Which is good?”

“Which is bad, Angel.” Wesley frowned. “He acts out childishly because he seeks outward attention and approval, because he is avoiding his inner world. He probably can’t bear to be alone with his own thoughts.”

Wesley didn’t like the smile that graced Angel’s lips then, as though he was a schoolboy who’d just been told classes were ending early. “So he’s probably seconds away from cracking all the time!”

“Uh… perhaps. Can we talk about the peace treaty now, Angel? The delegates will be here soon and you _are_ supposed to know what is going on.”

Angel blinked and nodded solemnly. “Yes. Sorry, Wes, go on with the debriefing. I’m listening.”

Wesley thought he detected a slight gleam about the vampire’s expression that implied nothing of the sort, but still, he started over again on the complicated greeting rituals of the two warring demon clans and hoped, as in all interpersonal affairs, Angel was simply too taciturn to do anything foolish.


	4. Soul Purpose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter reads like its own little Splindsey love story. It is all Spike/Lindsey. Yes, the story in general is Spike/Angel and maybe I should have warned this was coming up, but I didn't, so nyah! Angel spent too much time brooding and Lindsey beats him to the Spikey!
> 
> Takes place during the episode "Soul Purpose".

His name was Doyle, and apart from his rough edges and tattoos, he had a sharpness about him, a steady gaze and hand. This kid was a true believer. He came upon Spike enjoying the last of his dosh.

Twelve bucks had gone to a three-pack of black t-shirts at the local buy-rite, an exorbitant $9.50 had bought Harmony two drinks, but that was unavoidable guilt spending. So was the three-and-change for more smokes, since he couldn’t quite yet bear to smoke the last four of his Sunnydale Marlboro’s and was getting tired of the emotional angst tied thereto. (He briefly considered tossing them when he disposed of his ruined shirt.) This left him standing on a street corner, not wanting to go back to Wolfram and Hart, with $14.38 in his pocket. One double-shot of bourbon later he had the remainder converted into ones, which he was miserly dolling out to strippers in reward for their calculated flirtations.

Thank the powers for titty bars, ubiquitous dens of leave-me-the-fuck-alone. No one bugs you in a strip club unless you’re paying them to bug you. That is, unless you meet a bloke named Doyle who interrupts the fun before you got that last, really good-looking dancer to come your way. A man who says you have a destiny.

Still, it took all Spike’s resolve not to let on that he wanted this, craved validation more than blood, violence, and sex -- all rolled together.

Doyle smiled at him like it didn’t matter; he wasn’t even interested in Spike’s emotional state. That was a fuckin’ relief.

He took him down the block to an alleyway beside a more reputable nightclub, where a very amorous female Fyarl was mauling some poor bloke.

Spike glanced at Doyle and was glad he was the only one in the alleyway who could understand the sweet nothings she was growling.

“You see this shite in your head?” Spike asked, wiping Fyarl blood off his hands after hauling the corpse to a dumpster. (Sadly, Fyarl weren’t one of your dissolving-on-death demons.)

Doyle nodded stoically.

“That’s a regular brain-buggering. Still, suppose you save money on cable?”

“Does this mean you’re accepting your destiny? Signing on to the hero business?”

Spike shrugged. “Got a place I can wash up, mate?”

Doyle clapped him on the shoulder. “Let’s get a beer, my treat.”

Spike couldn’t help but look at the man suspiciously, but Doyle seemed to be walking straight for the bar across the street, so he followed.

By the time he returned from a brisk men’s-room clean up, Doyle had bottles of beer and shots of bourbon at the ready. He lifted his own shot glass and said, “To the first of many jobs well-done.”

Spike felt an odd warmth in his stomach at that. He had to sit down. Fortunately, there was a chair right there with beer in front of it. “Wasn’t anything,” he modestly complained. “Fyarl’s are dime a dozen. Usually some other beastie’s hirelings.”

Doyle frowned. “Think we should be tracking down its boss?”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Nah. She was on her own, that was bloody well obvious by what she was sayin’.”

Doyle looked impressed. “You speak demon languages?”

“A few,” Spike couldn’t help smiling. “Not hard to pick ‘em up when you’re stuck for months in a demon camp. Word of advice: never, EVER use yourself for collateral in a poker game, even if you got a bleedin’ full house. Oh, and demons always cheat, the bastards.”

Spike swallowed his shot of bourbon in one gulp and the heat spread through his body, joining that feeling in his gut that he was slowly realizing was the rarely-felt pleasure of being appreciated.

Doyle smiled right back at him. “You’ve got to have a lot of life to tell about, friend.” He tipped the neck of his beer bottle in salute.

“I was a villain for most of it,” Spike looked into the mouth of his own beer. “Evil, soulless thing. Not fit stories for a hero-type such as yourself.”

“What? I do not believe, not for one second, you don’t have some amazing shit to tell. In fact, I bet on it. Cash money.” He slapped a pair of folded twenties on the table. “Forty bucks says you can tell me three cool stories that aren’t evil.”

Spike raised one eyebrow. “You realize how stupid a bet that is? All I have to do is pretend not to have any and I’m forty bucks richer.”

“Which means you DO have good stories to tell.”

There was a mischievous light to Doyle’s eyes, and his smile was soft, comfortable. Spike found himself irrevocably liking him. “Bugger off, I’m not your nanny I don’t have to tell you stories.”

Doyle’s smile didn’t diminish. “Fine, fine,” he waved his hand dismissively. “I’ll just sit here with the century-old vampire and shoot the shit about sports. You like football?”

“If by ‘football’ you mean a sport where more than one bloke on the team actually touches the ball with their foot, yes, I do. If you mean a bunch of padded and over-protective yanks playing a bastard version of rugby, NO.”

Doyle chuckled and raised his beer to drink. “Yeah, I hate football too.”

Without actually speaking about it, they decided to let the forty dollars settle their bar tab and ordered another two rounds to make sure it would, while Spike, without meaning to and with no apparent knowledge of having given in, told the story of how he was captured by demon slave-traders and worked their fyarl henchmen into a strike to escape.

At closing they stumbled together into the lightening twilight, propelled by two stout bouncers.

“Damn, where’s the time go?” Doyle attempted, drunkenly, to straighten his shirt.

Spike laughed, lolling against the side of the building. “You’re tanked, mate. Fortin… fortuneet… lucky I’m a bloody vampire. Can take m’ liquor.”

Doyle swayed a little, squinting at Spike. “Shit. We weren’t supposed to take that long. It’s almost dawn.”

“Naw,” Spike waved a hand. “Got two hours yet, maybe three. Plenty of time t’find a rock to crawl under. Specially this neighborhood. Flops all around!”

Doyle grabbed Spike’s arm as he swung it extravagantly to take in the empty street, and nearly stumbled with it. “No, man, I got a place. Come on…”

***

Lindsey awoke with dried drool adhering his cheek to a thigh he knew wasn’t his.

Fortunately, it was a denim-clad thigh.

He raised his head against the ax that apparently was bearing down on it (and through it) and squinted blearily around until he remembered where he was. The apartment he’d rented out for Spike. They were tangled together on the floor in front of the couch, where they’d fallen, if he remembered correctly, in the midst of a very macho argument over who would get the couch and who the bed. At some point, unconsciousness had won.

Shit! He fumbled for his cell and flipped it open to check the time. It was almost noon. Eve was going to kill him. He hit her on speed-dial, but then glanced at Spike, who was stirring. No. No don’t’ fuck this up. He shoved the phone back in his pocket.

Water. Plenty of it. Plan… after. He pulled his right leg out from between Spikes’ and crawled forward on hands and knees until he felt steady enough to stand.

He leaned against the kitchen sink and let the water run for a while to clear any pipe-rust. There weren’t any glasses in the cabinets – hell, there wasn’t any anything in the cabinets. He’d been thinking ‘vampire’ meant ‘minimal on the cooking supplies’. He cupped his hands under the stream and slurped up as much as he could.

It tasted like heaven.

“Shitty place you have here, Doyle,” Spike said, far too chipper. Lindsey heard him stand and shake out his duster. “Real pack-rat you are. Look at all these precious curios.”

Lindsey drained another handful of water and turned off the tap, feeling much, much more alive. “It’s not my place.” He turned to smile at the confused vampire. “It’s yours.”

Spike glanced once more around the bare room. “Uh…?”

“I know the Powers that Be don’t pay. And I also know that you have nothing, not even a change of jeans. So, I dipped into my savings to get you a roof over your head.”

Spike frowned. “You don’t _know_ me.”

“After last night, I think we’ve made acquaintance,” Lindsey countered with a sickly smile. He turned the faucet back on, hungry for the refreshing feel of cool water. He splashed his face and drank a few more handfuls.

He was surprised to find Spike standing not four paces behind him when he turned around.

“Don’t need all this,” Spike said, earnestly. “I’ll find my own digs, yeah? Last place I lived in was a crypt. A concrete box for dead people.”

Lindsey flicked his wet hair out of his face. “Too much grandeur for you? A minute ago this was a shithole.”

“Yeah, that’s when I thought it was YOUR shithole.”

Lindsey calmly studied the vampire. It was one thing, reading up on him, looking at pictures – quite another to be standing there with an emotionally complex being. “And yet you don’t look grateful.”

“I’m not going to be your kept boy.”

And the earnestness in his eyes! Lindsey almost gasped, almost broke a lifetime’s worth of practice keeping his face carefully passive. “I know you’re used to hanging out with the evil undead, but in case I didn’t make myself clear, I’m not asking for anything in payment here. Not going to take it out of your pride. This is all for convenience sake, and to keep the champion safe. I know who’s more important, guy. It isn’t the seer they write comic books about; it’s the fighter.”

“So you’re just _giving_ me an apartment. Me, a recently-evil bloke you hardly know.”

“That’s right. For the greater good.”

Spike squinted at him, then shook his head. “Sorry mate. Guess you’re right.” He pulled the one chair out from the scavenged dinette set and sat down. “I’m not used to dealing with decent people.”

Lindsey had the grace to feel guilty, hearing that. “It really is a shithole,” he said, scooting up to sit on the counter.

“In LA? Even this square footage has to set a bloke back. I appreciate it.” Spike smirked over his shoulder. “Not a lot of posh cemeteries hereabouts.”

“Heh. Not without barbed wire and armed patrols to keep vagrants out.” Lindsey shook his head, looking over the apartment in a new light. He hadn’t really spent much time looking for it – had just leapt on the first, cheapest place he found with only the legally necessary number of windows. (Which was one, in the bedroom, to act as an emergency fire escape.) Now it the anonymous space was going to be forever linked to this personality in front of him.

“Doesn’t make sense, anyway,” Spike said, “rich bastards building miniature condos for their corpses. Someone should get use out of the space.”

Where they talking about cemeteries? “Yeah?” Lindsey said.

“Place I was in, mate, it was almost as big as this apartment! Bigger if you count the cave I dug out underneath. Can you imagine? All that space for two dead people. That’s all were buried in it – two.”

“My parent’s house was about the size of this place,” Lindsey said, nodding toward the center of the room. “Crowded as a chicken coop, with me and my brothers and our baby sister all underfoot, all the time. Which was funny because if you went outside, there was nothing for miles and miles… all this empty land.” He looked back at the vampire and noticed a slightly uncomfortable look on his face. “You grew up rich, huh?”

The discomfort was snatched away from his face like a secret possession. “I was born in 1854, mate. Don’t think our childhoods are going to exactly compare.”

“Nothing to feel ashamed of. We don’t pick our parents. Mine were good people, though. Loved us kids like mad. Sacrificed everything for our educations. Hope I’m as good a father, some day.”

“Don’t count on it. Once the powers-that-bugger take note of you, normal home life jumps ship, and it never looks back.”

“You speak from experience.”

“Not my own.” Spike straightened in his chair, suddenly, and dug in his pockets. He threw two wads of black cloth on the table, followed by a pack of cigarettes, a book of matches, and a misshapen piece of wood.

Lindsey frowned. “What’s that?”

Spike spread his hands. “I’m unpacked.” He stood. “Let’s find some beer. You still look like the hair of the dog wouldn’t go amiss.”

***

Doyle came and went with just enough frequency that Spike could pretend he was on his own without feeling lonely. And he was always there, waiting, when Spike got back from a case.

He was pacing when Spike returned from saving Angel, and stopped, arms still crossed tightly over his chest, his body still facing the direction he had been walking. The expression on Doyle’s face let Spike know what his own must have looked like.

He shrugged out of his duster and tossed it on the couch. “He was lying there, helpless. You don’t see Angelus lying helpless. An’ he’s on the top of this big building full of lackeys and sycophants and lying there, helpless. Not a one came up to check on him. Not a one knew he was lyin’ there like that. He’s got everyone, and no one. He was alone.” Spike dropped onto the couch, hands between his knees. “Don’t know if I can wrap my head around this one.”

He looked up to see a beer bottle, bottom-first. “Think you need this.”

Spike grimaced and took it. “Our coping strategies are a might alcoholic. Not that I’m complaining.”

Doyle dropped onto the sofa beside him, another bottle already on its way to his lips.

Spike raised an eyebrow. “I know why I’m in a state. What’s your problem? You weren’t worried about me, were you, nancy?”

“No, no, this friend of mine, she called me with a problem while you were out. Worried about her.”

“You wanna go, check on her?”

Doyle shook his head. “Can’t. ‘Sides, I doubt she’d let me.”

Spike smiled and raised his beer. “Here’s to tough birds who don’t need us. Best kind.”

Doyle lost his worried expression at last, face relaxing into a grin like melting butter. “Here’s to them,” he said.

They drank, and talked, and switched on the ratty little TV when conversation got too personal.

Sometime around the fourth commercial break Spike turned to Doyle and kissed him.

Half he’d been expecting to shock, half had something to do with something Doyle had just said, but damned if he could remember for sure, because Doyle was kissing back and his lips were melting and warm, sausage gravy and butter on biscuits, sunrises and warm winds.

Thank the powers Spike didn’t know any telepaths. He’d never live down the poetic crap his mind conjured up on three beers.

They separated, because Doyle had to breathe, and the Texan licked his lips, half-smiling, not closing his mouth, like he was trying to taste, not Spike, but the situation. “Well,” he said.

Spike didn’t say anything. This was the part where he put his foot in it, usually.

But Doyle tilted his head back, eyes slitting like he was savoring a sip of fine wine. “This is a damned complication. You know that, right? We’re working together. There’s a mission. There’s…” he shook his head, eyes opening sleepily.

Spike scooted back, drew his arms back to his sides. “Right. Right. Sorry about that, mate. Vampire. We’re not just evil, we’re horny buggers too. We’ll just forget…”

And Doyle was suddenly on him, settling across his lap like falling into the saddle. “Didn’t say that,” he drawled, lowering his lips with slow care to Spike’s while one hand snaked down between them, pressing denim into hard arousal.

This time, when Doyle broke the kiss and looked down at him expectantly, Spike just said, “Well, yes, or we could do that.”

“Good plan,” Doyle agreed, his fingers crawling under the hem of Spike’s t-shirt.

Spike obligingly helped the man pull it off over his head. “Our coping strategies are getting better,” he said, and was rewarded with another of those sparkling, sunshine-and-prairie smiles.

He could get used to those.


	5. Interlude before Damage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I tried to tie up the Splindsey quick and get on to the plot, but the boys just wouldn't cooperate.
> 
> One more chapter just for Spike/Lindsey!
> 
> Warnings: Um, two guys doing pretty much everything they can to each other and angst.

Lindsey rocked his hips, loving the never-enough stimulation of his jeans against denim, zippers, rivets, and seams grating too hard and not hard enough.

He didn’t know what had possessed the vampire to kiss him. (He certainly knew what possessed him to kiss back!) _I’m going to hell for this_ , he thought, with a smile, because what was one more sin on a list like his? Spike was looking up at him like he’d just won the lottery.

The mother-fuckin’ lottery. Spike undulated under him, all those pretty abs doing their thing as he rose up to kiss him hungrily while Lindsey worked his fly open.

Damn those kisses. Insistent, strong, mind-fucking. The feel of bare skin against his still clothed body. Lindsey wrapped his hand around Spike’s cock, and he needed it, to hold on, like a saddle horn, hips bucking together now. Spike broke away, his mouth opening, taking in breath, wanting to speak. Lindsey kissed him hard and quick. “Say one fuckin’ thing about cowboys and riding and I’ll squeeze your pecker right off.”

Spike groaned low in his throat. His hands gripped Lindsey’s hips hard. It felt good, secure. “Wasn’t going to say that. Wanker. Gah. Let me think…”

Lindsey laughed, sliding his hand more firmly down the hard length between them, letting his knuckles graze his own erection. “I think thinkin’ is off the menu.”

And suddenly Lindsey’s comfortable seat rose up, and Lindsey found himself weightless, tossed like a rag doll against the back of the couch. Spike’s face looked more dangerous than sexy, chin down, his eyes narrowed and nostrils flaring as he pinned Lindsey to the wall. “Not your kept boy,” Spike said.

Lindsey squirmed, the back of the couch digging in to his spine while his arms and upper back were pressed firmly against the cold, smooth-painted brick. “Shit, man, you’re drunk. That ain’t what this is.”

Spike leaned back. “What is this?”

Lindsey shrugged. His denim-clad leg dragged along Spike’s. “Fun.”

“Fun,” Spike repeated, and there was something brittle in his eyes.

“Just two guys, enjoying what fate brings.” Lindsey lifted himself a little, sitting on the top of the couch so he could bring his legs up and around Spike’s waist. “So you gonna let this cowboy ride or you gonna make us talk about it all night?”

Lindsey shifted his weight onto his legs. Spike let go of his arms and he once again got a hand between them, skating over those rippling abs.

Spike had one hell of an open face. Lindsey could see the damn wheels turning. One of those wheels was labeled ‘don’t let my heart get broke again’.

But the wheel labeled ‘don’t be a wuss’ won out, and Spike’s stiff arms melted into a firm hold around Lindsey’s back, and that delicious mouth descended on his again and they were moving through the archway that separated the efficiency’s bedroom. Lindsey’s hair brushed against it.

He wasn’t a small man, not in muscle, not where it counted, and couldn’t remember the last time he’d been carried. He supposed it was when his daddy put him to bed; he hadda been only three years old the last time that happened.

And he was being put to bed again. The cheap mattress hit him, hard and flat, springs groaning as the vampire crawled between his spread legs and kissed the breath out of him.

Lindsey gasped, struggled to get his lips free to get some breath. “You gotta let me take these jeans off.”

“Do I?” Spike’s voice was deep and full, chuckling under the surface. “I think, pet, that I don’t have to do anything I don’t want.”

It was Lindsey’s turn to groan. He twisted in the hard cage of Spike’s arms. The vampire feasted on his neck, his chest, sucking, nipping, kissing every part of him.

This was not what Lindsey expected.

Spike was hard, like crystal where Angel was stone. Open where Angel was closed. Boiling where Angel simmered.

And Spike was shucking Lindsey’s jeans off his legs with all the ease of removing peas from their pod.

And then skin was touching skin, cool and soft, velvet. Spike felt like the ripples on a sand dune. Like the rills on a streambed. Like making love to caramel. Lindsey let himself just fall back, legs opening wantonly while Spike worked above him.

How could this be dead? This life and motion?

Spike pushed his doubts forcefully from his mind. Doyle was muscular, thick, and tan over every inch of his body. Spike ran hands over thick thighs and narrow hips, admiring the contrast. Damn that was a thrill, imagining Doyle in his altogether under the hot, deadly sun, soaking up its energy.

He pressed his lips to the crease of his thigh and almost felt the sunshine inside him, with the salt of sweat and warmth of living flesh. He worked his way down the curve, which rose to greet him as Doyle writhed. “Christ, what are you doing?”

Spike couldn’t say “tasting your sunshine,” so instead he just nipped Doyle’s pelvic bone and said. “Got no slick, mate.”

Doyle lifted his hips off the bed as Spike chuckled into the soft folds of him. Human sweat, musk, funk, warm and alive and nuanced in flavor, he nibbled his way around the heavy balls and danced the tip of his tongue over sensitive corrugations of skin.

“Jesusfuckinchrist!”

Spike gripped trembling thighs. “Don’t tell me you’ve never had your arse seen to?”

Doyle shook, but gritted out, “Did someone tell you to stop?”

Spike licked carefully along that sensitive pucker, laughing as Doyle twisted, twitched and writhed. Slowly, he worked him open, got the musky, slightly bitter taste of him, and now-wet skin responded less frantically to his attentions. Doyle’s fists were ripping the mattress cover.

“Think that’s enough?” Spike asked with an arched brow.

“FUCK NO.” Doyle looked down the length of his own body, past his wavering flag-pole of an erection.

“Well, I ‘spose if you’re not comfortable, we’ll just have to stop.” Spike ran light, teasing touches up and down his thighs and lowered his mouth, just slightly, toward Doyle’s cock, coming up away from it at the last second with a smug grin.

“You stop right now, so help me I’ll stake your ass. Get some sweet and sour sauce.”

Lindsey laughed at Spike’s sudden flummoxed expression. “Some wot?”

“We got tons, left over from the Chinese take-out. That shit’s slick, isn’t it? Come on!”

Spike gave his cock-head a retaliatory swipe with the flat of his tongue. “You wanna fuck with duck-sauce?”

Their eyes met, and then both fell into the deep, uncontrollable laughs of the drunk, curling together and slapping sheets and kissing.

“You’re not what I expected,” Lindsey said, trailing a lazy hand over Spike’s abdomen.

“Straight?”

Lindsey slapped him playfully. “Naw. Man, I mean… vampire with a soul? Path of redemption? I was expecting this…” he shrugged.

“Joyless, sexless pillock with a brood fetish?”

Lindsey ducked his head, smile too tight to talk for a while. He coughed. “Yeah. Something like that.”

“Well, I didn’t expect Mr. Mission to kiss back,” Spike replied, brushing Doyle’s long hair out of his face. “You don’t know how long it’s been since I was with someone… someone who wanted to be with me.”

Lindsey ducked his head again, biting his lower lip. He had to keep his mouth shut, or he’d say ‘fuck the plan’ and tell Spike everything. They could share opinions on Angel, unravel his mystery together.

“Hey,” Spike caught his face before he could turn completely away. “’S a good thing, right? Don’t get all teary on me. We’re still blokes, here.”

Spike slapped his knee and got off the bed, sauntering in naked glory… to the bathroom. He came back waggling the shampoo bottle. “I highly recommend glycerin-based soap, mate. Won’t sting like the citric acid in duck sauce. No bits of red pepper left up your bum, either.”

“Well I’m glad a hundred years of existence have taught you such valuable lessons.”

Spike tossed him the bottle. “You got three seconds to slick yourself up before I show you what else I learned in the past century.”

Lindsey wasted his first two seconds gaping in shock and was summarily pounced.

“Fuck, Spike! No wait!” Lindsey tensed all over.

Spike sat up between his legs, a bemused smile on his face. “Don’t you trust me, Doyle?”

And Lindsey felt cold gel gently working over his pucker, not yet trying to enter, soft finger-pads circling.

“I’M not like that, yeah?”

Lindsey almost said “Like Angel?” Out loud. Only the sensation of a long cool finger breaching him saved him.

Spike worked slowly, carefully, coaxing Lindsey open and taking frequent pauses to tease the sensitive flesh of his thighs, stomach, and sides. He bent over and licked Lindsey’s nipples while his fingers worked inside him. He lavished kisses and bites on both sides of his neck. “Don’t want you goin’ lopsided,” he muttered as he changed position.

“Fuck me already. Sonofabitch. You want me to beg, is that it?” Lindsey bucked against him and Spike took hold of his hands, pressing them to the bed.

“When you’re ready. Wouldn’t want to be accused of takin’ advantage. ‘M a big mean old vampire here.”

“Asshole! Get in there!” Lindsey twisted his hips, trying to line up with the cock bumping just out of reach.

“That an insult or a direction?”

And then there were wet, tight lips on his dick, room-temperature made it feel like a fake, a very very clever toy. Lindsey propped himself up on his elbows to watch, not quite believing his eyes. Spike was looking back at him, blue eyes glittering in his impossibly white face, cheekbones razor-sharp against hollows and every motion that wrung pleasure from Lindsey drawn in subtle movements under the surface of the skin.

In the pile of fabric at the foot of the bed, Lindsey’s cell began to ring.

“Fuuuuck,” Lindsey groaned, torn between thrusting into that cool, wet space and dutifully answering. It was probably Eve. It was probably important.

Spike slurped off the tip of his cock. “You are not answering that, Doyle, so just get that thought out of your head.”

And, unceremoniously, he flipped Lindsey onto his hands and knees.

Lindsey’s arm landed off the narrow mattress and he had to scramble to get all his limbs on it, under himself. “You need a bigger bed.”

“An’ whose fault is that?” Spike settled his hips and started slowly, too slowly entering him.

Lindsey pressed back, forcing the pace. It felt good, tight and hard. “My bad. Shit. Expected… expected Mr. Joyless Sexless Et Cetra.”

“Well,” Spike kissed his spine and drew out almost all the way. He slammed home, at last, all the way in. “We’ll have to divest you of that notion.”

Lindsey felt his whole body shudder, and bit back on a groan. He hardly registered Spike’s hand wrapping around his dick, gentle at first, then picking up speed in time to his thrusts. Lindsey became nothing but a panting, blind, deaf, mute need, hanging on with teeth and nails lest he pop his load on the first thrust.

And for all that concentration and panting and groaning, Lindsey was shooting off all too soon with a cry that came from the bottom of his balls.

Spike rolled him onto his back again, positioned him carefully on the narrow bed. “Neighbors are gonna think I murdered you,” he chuckled, wringing the last stiffness from Lindsey’s softening cock.

“Not entirely sure you didn’t,” Lindsey croaked.

Spike nuzzled into his side, making the most of the space they had, hand still on Lindsey’s wet groin.

Lindsey shook his head. “Wait… you didn’t…”

“Wait is precisely what we’re gonna do, Doyle my lad, and get you hard again. Because that was just unacceptable.”

“Hey! How do you expect me to…”

“Sh.” Spike slipped his tongue long the shell of Lindsey’s ear. “Already hardening gain. I can feel it.”

“No, I’m not. Some of us here are living human beings, Spike, and not in our twenties any… oh fuck.”

Cool air and gentle teeth were alternating on his ear, sending jolts down his whole left side, body rigid, while Spike’s hand played over him with merciless care.

“What are you… fuck… what are you…”

Spike leaned over him, reached to get the other side of his neck with teasing bites while his hand continued to work a now rising member with the most delicate of touches. “First time hardly counts, don’t it? That was just to take the edge off, burn off some of the beer. Want you all with me when we get down to serious business.”

Even as he squirmed, Lindsey laughed, “Your mouth’s writing some mighty big checks I hope your body can cash.”

Spike didn’t look worried. “Wanna make sure you don’t kick me out in the morning,” he said.

“I’d have to be some kind of idiot to do that,” Lindsey grabbed the back of Spike’s head and crushed their lips together.

***

Lindsey woke bone-sore and sticky and replete. Spike was already awake, on his side, taking up just the edge of the bed – like a cat he could look comfortable in the most impossible positions. His fingernails scraped dried cum off Lindsey’s belly, and his eyes were focused on him, searching, waiting for something.

Lindsey shifted. “You think I’m gonna kick you out?” All that hard muscle, all those sharp edges, and he was soft as moss under water.

Shit.

Spike smiled quickly to cover up that naked vulnerability. “Still blokes, aren’t we?”

“Just a couple of guys, champ. Don’t regret a damn thing.”

Spike slid off the bed, paused, one hand trailing on Lindsey’s abdomen. “It’s good, yeah?” he asked. “Good not to be alone.”

Lindsey bit his lip and nodded.

_Going to hell,_ Lindsey thought, _and I’m gonna deserve every second._

He waited to hear the water turn on and fished his phone out of the tangle of blue jeans and sheets at the foot of the bed. Sure enough, there were three missed calls from Eve. He grimaced and thumbed the redial.

“About time you called back. Did you listen to my message?”

Lindsey sighed, stretching back in the sweaty, musky sheets. “Nah. Make this fast, sugar. Champ’s in earshot and… things are getting complicated.”

“Some super-strong girl escaped from Harkness Asylum in West Hollywood. We need to move on this. Angel’s already sent people out. She was last seen at a convenience store near Echo Park. Send our boy out there now!”

“All right, all right, I’ll call you when he’s away.”

Lindsey snapped the phone shut and threw it onto the rumpled pile of his jeans.

He could still hear the shower running, yet his heart was trying to beat its way out of his chest. He half hoped he had been overheard, the jig up.

And oh how he didn’t want to admit how much he loved the danger.

The shower squeaked off and Lindsey took himself in hand, quickly imagining that wet body coming toward him… nothing like holding your dick to explain an increased heart rate. He licked his lips, watching the bathroom door and angling himself toward it, legs wide, on display.

The door opened and Spike stepped out, dripping wet. “Remind my landlord to pick up some towels,” he said. He snatched his t-shirt off the floor and rubbed it over his hair.

Rivulets traced every contour of his body. Lindsey wondered just how soon ‘now’ meant to Eve, and if it could be put off until, say, tomorrow.

Spike flicked water from his fingers and stalked toward the bed, flicking his eyes to Lindsey’s crotch. “That for me? Damn, cowboy, were you locked up in a monastery or something? I’ve got an excuse, you know, magic circulation.”

“Think I might have a previously unmentioned vampire fetish,” Lindsey confessed, biting his lower lip.

Aw, damn, if he didn’t get it out soon, it wasn’t going to happen. Spike was crawling up the foot of the bed like a panther, mouth open and grinning.

Fuck.

Lindsey squeezed his eyes shut and gasped with feigned pain, gripping his forehead and imagining migraines.

“Oh bugger hell no! Not now.” Spike crawled up to his side, took him in his arms.

Lindsey winced at that easy, un-asked-for comfort. “There… there’s a girl… she’s powerful, super-strong, insane… near Echo Park. Escaped… Harkness Asylum. She’s killing people. You have to hurry.”

Spike kissed him on the forehead. “We’ll finish this up when I get back.” He squeezed Lindsey’s thigh as he got off the bed. “Take some Advil and buy some bleedin’ towels.”

Lindsey watched him dress and go, holding his head and pouring all his emotional angst into acting a false physical pain. After the door clicked shut, he counted to twelve and got his phone.

“He’s on his way.”

“What took so long?”

“He was in the shower, Eve. Look, I have to tell you something… things got physical last night.”

There was a pause. He heard a door shut on the other side of the phone, the background noises of the office dying away. “Physical? In what way?”

“I may have… slightly… fucked our champion, Eve.” Lindsey waited for her response. He didn’t even hear her breathing. He rubbed his forehead. “Shit, I’m sorry, darlin’, it just… happened, you know? I was a little drunk…”

“This is your plan, Lindsey. Your plan, which I agreed to be a part of. I will not stand by while you screw it up because you couldn’t keep your pants on.”

Lindsey grimaced at the irony as he was reaching for his boxers. He tucked the phone carefully against his shoulder and stepped into his shorts. “Nothing’s screwed up yet. Just I thought I should tell you. Didn’t mean to hurt you this way.”

“Oh, Lindsey, I am so far from hurt I couldn’t get a package delivered there. But I know you. You get emotionally attached.”

“If our plan goes right, nothing bad happens to Spike. He moves in to the big corner office and appoints his dear buddy Doyle to help him out. I don’t see getting attached as a problem, more of a perk.”

“Sure, baby, and how long could he be CEO and not find your picture on the Employee of the Month plaque?”

Lindsey shifted the phone to his other ear while he shrugged into his shirt. “We cross that bridge when we get to it. But I am NOT,” he paused for emphasis, “losing sight of the plan.”

“Okay, baby. I trust you. But Lindsey?”

“Yes?”

“You are so telling me all about tapping that vampire ass, you realize that?”

Lindsey laughed, rubbing a hand over his face. “You are one filthy girl, darlin’.”

“Mm hm,” she purred, “And don’t you forget it.” She hung up.

“Damn,” Lindsey said, looking down at the wreck they’d made of the bed and surrounding area. He put his phone on the bedside table and picked up the sheet, shaking it out before putting it back on the bed.


	6. Damage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blech. Not entirely happy with this chapter. Things go badly for Spikey. Angel behaves like a twat.

“What are you doing here?”

Of all the voices, and the timing. Spike pulled a breath into his painfully compressed lungs. “Thought I’d see what it’s like to bounce off the pavement.” He picked himself up and sneered at Angel. “Pretty much what I expected.”

“You should stay out of this. Tactical is on its way.”

“Oh, right. She’ll hang around until they show up.”

“You should have waited.” Angel was as stiff as ever, managing to loom from a distance, hands in his coat pockets.

Spike peered up at the sky, expecting the Angel-copter to descend. “Which was working so well for you. ‘Sides, now I know what we’re dealing with. Some sort of Chinese demon. Maybe a water dragon?”

Angel rolled his eyes and walked off.

“What? It was shoutin’ Chinese. Know what that sounds like, don’t I?”

Angel spun on his heel just long enough to say, “She’s a slayer,” and continued his walk.

“A wot??”

“Slayer. Of vampires. She was called with the others when Willow did her spell, only this girl was already insane. She probably can’t separate the memories of previous slayers from her own experiences.”

Spike stopped. “A psycho slayer?”

Angel sighed, much put-upon and turned to face him. “Are you coming or not?”

“Where?”

“Home. Where we can use a million dollars of equipment to track her, formulate a logical plan instead of rushing off half-cocked.”

“I got a place, thanks. Still having me followed, Peaches?”

Angel looked away, jaw tight. “No. I told them not to follow you anymore. I respect your privacy.”

“That’s cute, that is.”

Angel turned with a flap of leather coat. “Come if you want. Giles is sending his top man to meet with us.”

***

Angel watched from across the room with increased distress as Andrew hugged Spike with undue familiarity.

“It's you. It's really you! My therapist thought I was holding onto false hope, but... I knew you'd come back. You're like... you're like Gandalf the White, resurrected from the pit of the Balrog, more beautiful than ever. Ohh... he's alive, Frodo. He's alive.”

Spike’s grimace at Andrew’s awkward behavior became a slight smirk as he saw Angel grinding his teeth and looking likely to rip the little ponce off of him.

Spike patted Andrew’s back a little more fondly than he would otherwise. “Ease up there, Samwise. Got a slayer to catch, remember?”

Lorne cleared his throat and leaned toward his boss. “Angelcakes! You’re making me look pink.” At Angel’s confused frown, he sighed, “You’re so green. How about toning down that aura just a tad?”

“Green? I…” Angel shook his head, “Pfft. I’m not… green.”

“Sure, sugerlump, and neither am I.” Lorne raised both eyebrows meaningfully before resuming his seat at the conference table.

“I have nothing to be green about!”

“Oh, honeybun, the minute you stop repressing…”

Angel glared at the anagogic demon until someone cleared their throat.

***

“Spike! Stop right there, this isn’t a joke.” Angel stormed out of the conference room after Spike.

“Oh it’s a joke all right, it’s bleedin’ marvelous, and you’re the punch line. You lot standing around discussing strategy while a barmy slayer cuts her way through LA.”

“You’re only going to get yourself slain.”

“Almost had her even when I didn’t know what she was. I killed two slayers with my own hands, remember? Think I can capture one who’s off her nut. Hell, had to catch Dru a time or two when she went on a bender.”

Angel interposed himself between Spike and the exit. His face was all narrow, horizontal lines: brow, eyes, lips. “You’re delusional. You’re not that strong, that quick, and you sure as hell aren’t half that clever.”

“Least I’m not jealous of soddin’ ANDREW.”

“What?”

“You were about to rip the poor tyke’s head off.” Spike rocked on the balls of his feet. “Talk about delusional. But ta. It’s fun to be on the other side of the unrequited bit for a change.” He tossed a salute at Angel’s dumbfounded frown. “See you after I’ve caught your slayer, peaches.” He sauntered down the corridor and out of the building.

Angel turned and gasped in shock to find Lorne at his elbow. “Good, good, give him a little head start, let him feel he’s being chased.”

“Lorne! I am not chasing after SPIKE. He can go get himself killed. It would be a relief.”

Lorne, who had been leaning forward to whisper conspiratorially, straightened with a sigh. “You are beyond help, cream puff.”

“And please stop calling me desserts,” Angel went back into the meeting room, where Gunn and Andrew were still arguing strategy and Star Wars trivia, seamlessly, following segues understood only to them.

***

Lindsey hit the nearest discount store (Mark’s Big Lots) and returned with a modest set of stoneware (cups, bowls and plates), fluffy towels in the manliest color available (dark green) and a bright red tea kettle.

British dudes liked tea, right?

Lindsey sat on the couch staring at the tea kettle where it sat on the back burner of the ancient four-burner stove, accusing him of nesting.

It was just a god-damned kettle, an aisle-end display impulse buy. A couple towels. Bare essentials. Shouldn’t he make his champion’s home… homey?

Lindsey stuffed the kettle far back in one of the cabinets where it couldn’t stare at him anymore and went out for beer and pizza. Leaving a mess around made him feel he’d re-asserted his manliness.

And he wasn’t waiting up. Hell no. He just had an investment, here. He had to confirm that everything went well with the mission. That was all. That was IT.

His cell rang and he almost upset the TV on its little table jumping up to grab it. “Eve?”

“No, the boogieman. We’ve run into a snag, ‘Doyle’. Spike was just here. Meeting with Angel. Going to Angel for help. Do you see the problem with this?”

Lindsey paced. “No, doesn’t make sense. Spike wouldn’t go to Angel. That’d be the last person he’d want help from.”

“I hope he’s a good lay, hon, because he’s crap for a champion.”

Lindsey stopped dead. “He’s a vampire with a soul. You want to find another one?”

“He got his ass handed to him. Turns out this crazy chick is a vampire slayer. The council of watchers sent some Alistair Cook wannabe.” There was a soft sound as Eve switched which ear she pressed to her phone. “Creepy little dweeb. Anyway, I’m reviewing the security cam footage now, but I’m thinking we may have to abandon this one. Pull Spike out, wait for an easier case.”

Lindsey sat on the arm of the couch. “He’s the slayer of slayers, Eve. This isn’t a set-back, it’s a god-damned opportunity. You wait and see, he’ll wrap up that little darlin’ and leave Angel holding her purse.”

“Wow. Your confidence in a guy really goes up after a screw. He must be pretty good after all.”

“I’m not thinking with my dick, here. I’m talking about his history. What I’ve read. Spike’s the only vampire ever to purposefully seek out a slayer, twice, and win. Angel’s never defeated a vampire slayer. Spike has. That’s all I need to know to place my bet.”

There was a small pause. “Hope you’re right, babe. Keep your line open. I’ll call with an update soon as I can.”

Lindsey tossed the closed cell phone from hand to hand. He was right. He had to be right.

He crossed to the kitchen counter and got the red teakettle out again.

***

He is at the mercy of a vampire slayer. That’s not new. His mind is befuddled, the world moving strangely around him, like molasses pouring from a teaspoon. He feels the pain, jagged and fast and burning, all the same, but he can’t move away from it, his body doesn’t quite listen to him anymore, and now he looks down and doesn’t have hands.

It’s not fair, he wants to say. I was going to use my hands. I was going to make good things. Save. Protect. I was going to…

But it is fair, all told. He isn’t the one she wanted. That’s not new. But he is guilty.

He realizes how much he’s been keeping busy, keeping moving, keeping himself from feeling the guilt. Holding his persona together like a bouquet of paper flowers in a driving rain. But now he’s got no hands and he sees it falling apart, false to start with and useless. Just wet paper, after all.

That’s new.

***

Spike lay in a hospital bed, in a small glass-walled cubicle in the medical wing of Wofram and Hart. Angel had a medical staff. Who knew?

Spike didn’t look as bad as he had, chained to that post. Angel repeated that to himself. Seeing Spike handless… it was horrible. It made his stomach tighten into a hard knot. Like watching Darla crumble into dust. Both times.

He didn’t want to have to see anything like that again. It was hard enough just seeing Spike so… corpse-like, lying surrounded by muted hospital greens like a dried lily. At least his hands were attached, now. Angel paced, his own hands balled in his pants pockets, pretending that HOPING real hard helped.

Spike stirred. An orderly responded instantly, coming in to help the vampire sit up. “Don’t try to move your arms,” she said.

Angel felt suddenly like a peeping tom. He hurried away, chewing his lip.

Hello, class four brood, he thought wryly, kicking the hall door open just because he wanted to cause a little violence.

***

“The drugs will wear off soon. Is there anything I can get for you?”

“Is there a phone?” Spike looked down at his fingers, and chuckled. “Suppose you’ll have to dial for me, love.”

“Of course, sir.” The nurse brought an old beige office phone close to the bed and held the receiver to his ear while he dictated the number Doyle had given him to call in emergencies.

“Who is this?”

Spike blinked, almost pulling back from the phone. “You always answer the phone so charmingly, Doyle?”

In the dank little apartment, lit only by the television, Lindsey jumped up from the couch, beer cans falling from his lap. “Spike. Shit, where the hell are you?”

“Wolfram and bloody Hart, if you can believe it. Medical wing. It’s a long story.”

Lindsey lost his breath. The beer cans clunked together by his feet, tuneless bells. His mind refused to supply a proper exit strategy. Spike had called him from Wolfram and Hart, where Angel could be listening in, recognizing his voice… “Never call this number again,” he snapped, and disconnected the call.

He paced, kicking the cans as far as he could. He hurriedly dialed Eve.

Spike craned his neck away from the phone. “Hang it up, love. Thanks.”

The nurse did so, a plastic sound and then the squeak of moving the side-table away from the bed again. She left without another word.

***

“This makes me feel special, mate. You brooding over me.”

Angel shifted in his seat. “This isn’t brooding. I’m… waiting. We need the hospital bed cleared. This is costing me a fortune.”

“Aw, peaches, you do care.”

“I don’t. Fred insisted we patch you up. I wanted to leave you.”

“Right. You’ve been sitting there four hours because you don’t give a rat’s ass.”

One corner of Angel’s mouth lifted. “Maybe I just like seeing you in pain.”

There was a long silence. Angel continued to look at his own hands, hanging between his knees.

Spike couldn’t take the silence. It was always a contest he’d lose. “You made me feel special, once. Like I was important to you. Don’t know if that was your intention, but there it was, a whole day and night of Angelus’ attention. And I woke up feeling this is it, right? This is the day everything changes. ‘Cept, of course, nothing changed. Do you remember that morning, Angelus? First words you spoke to me were ‘Where are my boots?’”

“No,” Angel said. “I don’t remember. It wasn’t an important day for me.”

“You made that clear at the time.”

“You were nothing to me.” Angel said. “My legacy was Drusilla. My loyal student was Penn. You? You were the stray that followed my girl home one day. You want to bring up that one day? One day in decades? Fine. I was bored. You were easy. So this… jealousy and concern you think you see in me, it’s not there. I feel _nothing_ for you but annoyance.”

Spike’s face was unreadable. “I’m all you have left.”

Angel stood. “You’re not. You aren’t even mine. Stop being here. Stop following me.”

“I’m not…” Spike sat up, wincing as his hands took a little of his weight by accident. Angel was already out the door, his coat flapping behind him as he hurried past the windowed wall. Spike yearned for the strength to make a rude gesture. “Not following you.”

***

Angel didn’t come back to visit him. No one did, aside from a quick stop by Fred. The doctors informed him it was time to go and he was let out of the building alone.

Lindsey wasn’t there when Spike returned to the apartment. The only evidence of his presence was a pizza box and some empty beer cans.

Spike dropped his bag from the medical people – two pints of donor blood, a plastic cup, and those stupid slipper-socks with the rubber lines on the bottoms. He used the side of his thumb to push the lid up on the pizza box. Empty. Wanker.

The docs said not to push it with his hands. Not to try and lift anything heavy. Not to go fighting demons for a week, at least. Tossers.

He flexed his fingers again, feeling each tendon strain in turn like a badly-stretched wire. The digits were moving, at least, but sluggishly, jerkily, like they were frozen.

He sat down, mostly using the sides of his hands to move the chair out. It was dark, but he didn’t feel like turning the light on. He could hear the skitter of the roaches along the baseboards and the steady roll of cars going by on the street outside.

He knew why Angel was so sore, but what had he done to Doyle?

Spike peered into the pizza box one more time, just to see if there wasn’t some crust he’d missed. Smelled like it had been a supreme, too.

Petty. The world could be ending and Spike was thinking about pizza. He pushed the box away from him and it tipped off the other side of the card table. He sighed, sitting alone in his chair.

He deserved this. Loneliness. He deserved it and worse.

It was a long time before he got up, put the blood in the fridge and went to bed.


	7. You’re Welcome

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember at the beginning I said this was gonna be Spangel? Well, friends, it only took seven chapters, but I give you: actual SPANGEL!

Five dead nuns lay in a star-pattern on the floor of the anonymous storefront, habits and wimples all intact over their rent flesh. (Of course. Didn’t it ruin the picture if they weren’t?)

Angel stepped over their legs and tried not to howl his frustration. Or cross himself. Or lick the still-fragrant blood from a pale cheek.

Angel stopped in the middle of the room, hearing the sounds of his team’s voices, Gunn, Fred, Wes – but not what they said.

“I quit,” Angel said, and turned, walking out of the room.

***

“So there you are.” Spike didn’t look up from the television. His forearms strained and fingers pressing rapidly on the controller buttons as he glared death at pixilated cartoon characters.

“Here I am.” Lindsey closed the door behind himself. “Why, were you expecting me?”

Spike scowled up at the cold tone. He was pissed himself, wanted to shout at Doyle, demand to know why he wasn’t there, like he always was before, when Spike finally got home. “That slayer you sent me after chopped off my hands.”

“Yeah. Heard about that.”

“Was that before or after you hung up on me?”

Lindsey folded his arms. “You failed.”

Spike’s little cartoon plumber plummeted off the screen. This was followed by the controller hitting the screen with a plastic ‘clunk’. Spike jumped up. “Failed? You gave me shit to go on, Doyle. She was a slayer. She didn’t need to be defeated, she needed to be saved. Powers don’t bother giving details like that?”

“I didn’t ask for these visions. These headaches.” Lindsey pushed Spike’s chest. “I’m just doing what I can for the powers that be. You want me to, what? Wait up for you every night? Keep your house? You went to Wolfram and Hart. Do you even know what that place is?”

“Someone offers to sew my hand back on, I don’t ask ‘em for a fuckin’ resume.”

“Maybe you should. I’m not paying to feed you, clothe you, and house you so you can fuck up like this than spend your time playing Nintendo.”

Spike narrowed his eyes. “It’s physical therapy.” He waggled his fingers.

“It’s bullshit.” Lindsey broke away from their stand-off to pace the small apartment. “I got too close,” he said, to no one in particular. He ran his hands through his hair. “The mission,” he turned to look at Spike, no longer appearing angry at all. “The mission has to come first, stud. And I mean every minute of every day. You got to do better. Think. A buddy of mine had his hand cut off and sewn back on by Wolfram and Hart – they gave him a cursed fuckin’ hand, all right? You want that? Two cursed hands, doing murder in your sleep?”

Spike cracked a grin, and tried (unsuccessfully) to stifle it in the face of Lindsey’s stern expression. “Don’t think my hands can do much without the rest of me, mate, unless they evilly wank me. And I might go in for that.”

Lindsey dropped his head, a slight smile stealing over his lips. “Shit.” He walked back to Spike, arms out, “I can’t stay mad at you, you son of a bitch.”

Spike flinched away from the embrace. “Well, I’m a little better at holding a grudge.”

Lindsey’s hands were still out, he shrugged. “What?”

“You weren’t there. I just thought you’d be here, after I got home. Like that. What’s been keeping you away? This some kind of punishment of yours, abandoning a bloke for a week? Because I’ve done push-me pull-you, Doyle, and I’m bloody sick of it.”

Lindsey bit his lip. He had been avoiding the vampire partially out of anger, betrayal, fear that Spike’s trip to the Wolfram and Hart infirmary was going to send his plan for revenge into smoke. He shook his head. “No. No, man. I couldn’t stay away if I tried, you know that. My mom was sick… I had to go take care of things for her. I’m sorry. Bad timing.”  
  
Spike’s face melted into concern. “Sorry t’hear that. Shouldn’t have yelled.”

They embraced. Lindsey sighed, enjoying the feel of the vampire, so hard and soft at the same time.

An electronic reproduction of the theme from “All About Eve” began to play in the vicinity of Lindsey’s buttocks. He groaned, breaking the hug with one arm to fish the cell phone out of his back pocket. “This is Doyle,” he said.

On the other end, Eve sighed heavily. Answering the phone like that was the clue that Spike was in close listening range. “Doyle, it’s sis. We have a major disaster here. I need you home ASAP.”

“I’ll get right on it. Love to Mom.”

“Yeah right,” Eve muttered and hung up.

Spike raised a brow. “Your sis sounds like a real gem.”

“Doesn’t get along with Ma. She’s the eldest. You know how that goes.” Lindsey wrapped his arms around Spike, pulling him close. “I’m afraid this make-up is gonna have to be cut short.”

“And I was hoping for angry sex.”

Lindsey laughed. “Later. I promise. With boots on.”

Spike kissed him on the nose and then shoved him gently toward the door. “Go. Mum’s waiting. Sure the whole family’s a wreck.”

“Yeah, it’s crazy.” Lindsey rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re lucky. Bet your kin are all dead.”

Spike shook his head. “You’ll miss ‘em, Doyle. Like a major organ. Enjoy the aggravation while you’ve got it.”

Lindsey nodded and ducked out the door.

In the cab of his pickup he redialed Eve. “What’s the disaster, ‘sis’?”

“Major disaster. We might have to step up our plans. Cordy’s awake, and steering Angel right toward you.”

***

“It was a taste test,” Spike shook Angel off and went to sit on the other side of the room. “Look, my source said she was evil, possessed. He hasn’t been wrong before. Anyway, she doesn’t taste evil. Demons have more of an… oak-y undertone.”

“What source?”

Spike scowled. “Name’s Doyle. Gets these visions.”

He noticed how Angel and Cordy shared a significant glance and wondered, not for the first time, if he’d missed a memo or two.

“Describe him.”

“Average height, built, tawny hair, blue eyes, got tattoos over every inch of him. Kind of an urban cowboy thing going on.”

Another significant glance between the cheerleader and brood-boy. “That weasel,” Cordelia said.

“Hey! Doyle didn’t ask to have these visions, did he? Hurt like a mother, too, from what I’ve seen.”

Cordelia marched up to Spike and looked for a second like she was going to smack him. He pulled back in preparation. But she turned and went to Angel’s desk. “Where’s your computer, Angel?”

“Uh… on Harmony’s desk.”

Cordelia rolled her eyes and started opening drawers. “There’s got to be a picture of that bastard somewhere.”

“What bastard?” Spike asked.

“Lindsey.” Angel leaned out his office door. “Harmony! Get me a picture of Lindsey McDonald.”

“Who with the what?” Harmony rose from behind her desk, pink feathered pen at the ready.

“Lindsey McDonald. Former employee. I need a picture. NOW.”

Cordelia pointed at Spike. “You see, your seer friend? More like a lawyer fiend. And those are MY vision-headaches, by the way. I didn’t suffer all those migraines so Mr. Evil-hand could co-opt my pain.”

Spike looked from Cordy’s animated anger to Angel’s monolithic frown. “You don’t know my Doyle is this Lindsey character. I mean, the guy doesn’t look like a ‘Lindsey’ to me.”

Harmony ran in, waving a photo. “Lindsey McDonald, from Personnel.”

Angel nudged his chin toward Spike. “Look at it, Spike. Look at your hero.”

Spike was seized with a very strong urge not to look at the picture, but Harmony was right in front of him, holding it out and fairly glowing with the pride of being useful. For a change.

Doyle’s charming, warm face smiled up at him under the glossy finish of the photograph. His hair was shorter, and he was dressed in a neat grey suit. Doyle didn’t wear suits. It was like seeing a beloved character actor in a completely different role.

It wasn’t like a betrayal. It was. Spike took the photograph from Harmony’s hands with numb fingers. The room was silent, waiting for his response. Couldn’t they see it plain enough on his face? “Yeah,” he said, voice barely a whisper. He coughed. “That’s him. That’s vision-boy.”

“My god, Spike. I can’t believe even you could be this stupid.”

“Said I had a destiny. Why would he make that up? Why... why me?”

Angel’s shadow fell over him. “To get to me,” Angel said. “Lindsey is obsessed with me. With taking me down. He used you and you rolled right over for him.”

Spike winced, not looking up at his glowering sire. “I thought I was helping people.”

Angel’s shadow departed. The office door opened and shut.

“Are you in trouble, Blondie-bear?” Harmony’s glittery pink fingernails touched the edge of the photo. “I need to take that back to records.”

***

The day could have been worse. Spike was grateful someone had the foresight to stock Wolfram and Hart’s lower levels with zombies. There were few things better for the soul than ripping the heads off a few dozen zombies.

And Angel was avoiding looking at Spike, but it wasn’t as bad as when he was looking at him.

Doyle… Lindsey, he had to remember to call him Lindsey… Lindsey Mc-fucking-Donald was gone, probably for good, probably suffering unimaginable torments. It never paid to personally piss off a higher power.

Spike couldn’t feel smug about that. Vengeance hadn’t been his thing, even when he was evil. He couldn't quite mourn, either. It had all been for Angel's sake. Again. Why did the bright ones, the sunny ones, always throw themselves on Angel's altar?

All told, it was the very definition of the sort of night one should go to the pub. And Angel’s crew was all for it.

They made it to the ground floor before Spike noticed Angel and Cordy weren’t following. “Save me a barstool, Fred,” he said, “Gotta make sure the brooding wonder is coming.”

“Definitely.” Fred touched his arm and smiled. “Don’t let him spend his night staring at the windows!”

Spike gave his best effort at a smile back and felt, well, if not nearly happy, recovering, at least, as he walked back up to the executive floor. “Angel?” He stepped into the dim CEO’s office. Angel was alone, standing by the windows, looking out. With the lights off. Of course. “Angel. Hey, where’d the cheerleader go? Got a pint with her name on it.”

“She’s gone,” Angel said, not turning around.

Spike frowned, not sure how to interpret his tone. “Well, can’t say I blame her. Vivacious girl like that shouldn’t be hanging around with a big wet sock like you.”

Angel turned. “She’s dead.”

Spike started toward him, then stopped. “Angelus?”

Angel laughed humorlessly. He advanced on Spike, who fought the urge to step back. “Is that your first response? The love of my life is dead, I must have killed her?”

“You do have a bit of a track record, love-of-life-wise.”

“Just shut up, Spike,” Angel said. And, to Spike’s utter shock, Angel kept advancing until he was wrapping his arms around Spike’s shoulders, resting his head against the smaller man’s neck.

Angel was heavy, limp, unmoving. “’Sokay,’ Spike said, and, awkwardly, returned the hug. “You’ll never be rid of me, at least, eh? Always the bad penny coming back. I got you.”

They stood a while, just silent, holding each other. Spike didn’t know Cordelia that well, but he thought about the few times he’d seen her. He had to admit all he could think of were her great tits, which was not the sort of thing you comforted the bereaved about, but he liked to think Cordy herself would appreciate being remembered that way.

Spike allowed himself to grieve a little for the loss of Doyle, who never really existed.

Angel snuffled against his shoulder. “She was so alive… I never…” he snuffled again, and stiffened.

“Hey, it’s okay. Let it out. She was a hell of a lady.”

Angel grabbed Spike by his lapels and buried his nose in his neck, inhaling deeply. Spike sputtered at the indignity. “I’m not a posy you big fat poof!”

Angel threw him against the wall with an angry snarl. “Lindsey.”

“Yeah,” Spike’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “We’ve been through that already. I’m an idiot. Doyle is Lindsey. Not really in a mood to…”

Angel hoisted him up and slammed him against the wall. “You fucked him.”

“Oh.”

“Lindsey Fucking McDonald. You undead whore!”

Angel’s eyes were black, opaque coals, and his fists hard as steel, digging into Spike’s chest. “I… didn’t know who he was, you fat oaf!”

“You knew he was human. You knew he wasn’t…” Angel growled. “Did you let him top you?”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Unbelievable. You know, normal people don’t have these dominance issues, Peaches.”

“You did. You must have. You slut! You catamite!”

Spike pushed, punched Angel’s chest but didn’t get him to let go. “I didn’t know who he was. I thought he cared about me. I thought SOMEONE fuckin’ cared.”

And then he was dropped. Angel turned away with a disgusted expression. “Why did I ever think I could trust you? A soul doesn’t change what you are, Spike. A worthless idiotic punk. And I actually believed…”

Spike had one hand on the carpet and not much interest in standing, but Angel’s words made him straighten. “What? You believed what? In me? That I could have a destiny?”

Angel resumed his post by the window, looking out without joy on the hazy industrial landscape. “Forget it. Go drink. It’s what you’re good at.”

“Angel,” Spike said.

Angel didn’t turn.

“Angel, look at me. Please.” There was no response.

“Sire.”

The hard set of shoulders rose.

“Sire, I’m sorry.”

There was a long pause. Slowly, Angel turned around.

Spike had him, but the line was very thin, liable to break. "I'm giving in, see? All my fault. Lay it on me."

"That's not good enough, Spike. I can't just forget, and nothing you say..."

Spike sank to his knees, hands at his sides. “I’m sorry.”

Angel looked like he’d been struck. “What are you doing, Spike?”

He bowed his head. “Sire, I fucked up. I’m begging forgiveness, yeah?” Spike looked up. “You’re all I’ve got left and you know it.”

Spike didn’t expect it to work at all, so he was a little surprised to be carried through the air, again, slammed against the wall, again, but this time with Angel’s lips pressed hard and hot and wanting to his.

Where had this come from? He knew the poof had been acting all jealous-sire lately, but this was like being hit with a water balloon filled with lust.

And he was kissing back, gratefully, relaxing into the possessive hold. It was unexpected grace, now, to have someone want him, unlooked for, but oh so needed. Each kiss took away the taste of Doyle… no, Lindsey.

Angel was grinding against him, frantic, face moving all over his, kissing brow, cheek, neck, back up to ear and nose and mouth again. “Easy… easy Peaches you’ll… fuck you’re gonna melt the rivets on my jeans.”

“Mine,” Angel growled, kissing hard like chewing little bites off of him. “Mine. Mine. Not Lindsey’s. Mine.”

“Yeah, yours. Possessive,” Spike kissed him. “Domineering.” Another hard kiss. “Git.”

“You’ll stay.”

“Try to get rid of me.”

Angel groaned, fists hitting the wall on either side of Spike’s head. The expensive paneling cracked. The supports inside the wall groaned, still Angel pounded against him, headless of clothing, of their positions, of how it must have looked and the increasing heat of friction between denim and wool.

With a near roar Angel shuddered and stilled.

Spike kissed his ear. “Come in your pants?”

“Fuck off, Spike.”

“No… not yet, anyway. If you’re done marking territory, how about we go upstairs and do the grieving, make-up, fucked-up, miserable sex proper, with nudity and a bed?”  
  
Angel, who had half-collapsed, leaning his weight on his arms on either side of Spike, looked up at him with a grateful expression. “You’ll stay?”

“Said I would. Come on.” He ducked under one of Angel’s arms and hooked it in passing, drawing him toward the elevator.

Angel followed like a big, tired, dumb dog.

Spike made a mental note to tell him that in the morning.


	8. Before We Fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very bad. But... well, I couldn't stop writing the Spangel porn!
> 
> Warnings: Spangel porn. Just a wee bit of the old Catholic kink. (Angel's a sick old bastard.)

They made it up the elevator before Angel woke up again and grabbed Spike like he was afraid he was going to fall.

“Easy there, poof.”

Angel grimaced mid-kiss. “Don’t call me ‘poof’ when we’re kissing.”

“Right. No calling you gay when you’re engaged in homosexual activity.” Spike angled his head back, barely avoiding another involving kiss. “Don’t you want to change your pants?”

“No.” Angel stopped pawing Spike just long enough to unbutton his own shirt and shrug out of it. Then he immediately went to work pulling Spike’s t-shirt out of his jeans.

Spike laughed. “You’re filthy, you know that.” He dropped the duster off his shoulders and whipped the t-shirt off easily.

“Don’t care,” Angel said, mouthing his way across newly exposed skin, running his hands over Spike’s torso as though he had to memorize it, now, before it was taken away forever.

“Sure, sure, that’s what you say now. Mmmph!” Spike undid Angel’s belt while battling a mouth full of tongue. When Angel broke off to lick his neck again, he gasped and said, “But I… ah… I know how it goes. In the morning it’s always ‘who got blood on my cravat?’”

“I don’t,” kiss, “wear,” kiss, “a cravat.” Angle turned and shoved Spike toward the center of the apartment.

Spike staggered backward, light-headed, and watched Angel kick off his no-doubt expensive shoes and strip out of his wool slacks. The smell of ejaculate was strong in the air as the fabric was shucked, but Angel was still hard, tenting the front of his silk boxers.

“No matter how well you dress a man,” Spike said, “He’s still going to look like an awkward git taking his pants off.”

Angel shook his boxers off his ankle and stepped on his socks to drag them off. “Shut up, Spike,” he said, stalking forward completely naked. There was nothing awkward about him now, the low light sliding over his powerful body.

Spike backed up a few steps, knowing he was being herded toward the bed. He raised his hands as though to ward off the lust-hungry beast. “You do realize this – you and me – it’s completely fucked up?”

And then Angel dove at him, hitting his midsection with one broad shoulder and propelling him onto the king-sized bed.

The burn of his lungs having all the air driven out of him was immediately met with a wet, hungry mouth on his as Spike tried to draw breath, leaving him feeling suffocated, covered by the large body over his. He squirmed, smacked playfully for Angel to let up. He always panicked when he couldn’t breathe, when it wasn’t his choice. His jean-clad legs squirmed against Angel’s bare ones.

Angel pulled back at last, licking his lips while Spike gasped. “You… you did that on purpose. Tosser.”

“You look so cute,” Angel said, a mixture of amusement and surprise on his face.

Spike smacked him, hard. The smile didn’t dim. Angel burrowed into the joining of Spike’s neck and shoulder. One hand hooked on the waist of Spike’s jeans and tugged hard. “Off,” he growled.

Spike sighed as though put-upon and worked his hands between them to undo his belt.

That was all he had to do, though, because Angel sat up and pulled the jeans off before he’d even wriggled them past his hips.

Angel had his Angelus face on – cold and hard, unreadable. He ran his hand down Spike’s leg. “Call me ‘Sire’.”

Spike scowled. “What?”

“Just say it.”

“Why?”

Angel crawled over him, holding his body up, a cage around him. Conversely, his eyes were petulant now. “Because it feels good when you do and I just want to do what feels good for once.”

Spike ran the pad of his thumb over Angel’s brow. “Whatever you want, sire.”

Angel growled his approval close to Spike’s neck, sending thrills along his skin.

“You’re so fuckin’ easy,” Spike muttered, kissing the side of his temple.

Angel nipped his ear to reprimand him. There was no talking after that, as they descended into each other’s bodies, warming skin against skin with friction.

Fingers dug in, knees pressed, they both tried to climb inside each other. It was ugly and messy and sloppy, elbows and teeth and grunts.

Angel pushed Spike’s legs apart, Spike bit his shoulder and shoved his knee between Angel’s, twisting to prevent any access. They rolled over, struggling for dominance. No words, no demands but those expressed in gripping fingers. Spike put all his strength into it, arching off the bed and writhing, but Angel won – of course Angel won. He always did, except that once, and maybe he just wanted it more.

Thick fingers jabbed, grabbed purchase and pushed, burning muscle and sensitive tissue in a quick parody of preparation, hooking hard, ripping their way in.

Spike didn’t mind, he pushed with the pain, held tight to Angel’s shoulders and levered himself against the thrust.

They fucked like they were trying to destroy each other. There was no more kissing. Bared teeth hissed and growled and snapped as bodies rutted mindlessly to completion. No pause, no art, just hard fucking.

Angel collapsed in stages, arms first, then shoulders, then back. He shuddered with a long breath that could have been a sob, but neither of them would mention it.

“Sorry,” Angel said. “I’m so sorry. I…” He moved down Spike’s body, kissing gently, pressing apologies into his abdomen and thighs before licking the blood smeared there.

Spike flinched at gentle touches as he hadn’t to brutal. His body seemed to be waking up, now, returning to itself with cold ticks like an engine winding down. Twinges of pain, tickles of comfort – he felt uneasy, fidgety, and almost embarrassed at Angel’s soft, half-heard apologies and rasping tongue.

He curled, wrapped his arms around Angel and hauled him back up to the head of the bed. “Don’t be a big girl’s blouse about it, peaches. That was great, yeah? Real fuckin’ mind-clearin’.” He kissed Angel’s bloodstained lips until the larger vampire relaxed in his embrace.

They dozed for a while. Spike felt like a rag that’d been squeezed dry. It was good to feel so empty, so absent, after so much emotion. He wasn’t thinking about anyone or anything but licking the dried, ground-in blood from Angel’s fingernails.

Angel propped himself up on one arm. “So…. You’d tell me if Lindsey topped?”

“Good god, can you get more insane?” Spike threw a pillow at him. “It shouldn’t matter!”

Angel couldn’t hide an eager smile. “Which means he didn’t!”

“Which means it shouldn’t matter. God would it really make that much of a difference if you ever gave it up?”

“I just like knowing I’m the only one.” Angel caressed Spike’s hip.

Spike rolled his eyes and turned his back to his sire. “Well, you’re not. So get that smug look off your face.”

Angel’s hand stilled on his hip, followed it and held on. “Who? Was it Penn? I knew I shouldn’t have…”

“Angel, don’t be a prat. We were apart one hundred years, and Dru liked threesomes. Get over it.”

Angel was silent, and Spike resisted the urge to turn and check out his expression. He was sore, tired, and tense. “Just drop it, ‘Gelus. I can _feel_ you brooding. Let’s sleep, okay? Just sleep.”

“How many?” Angel asked.

“Christ.” Spike beat his head against the pillow.

“I just want to know.”

“A few. Maybe five? Not so fuckin’ many.”

“Anyone you didn’t kill?”

Spike did turn around. Angel was staring at him earnestly, propped up on one elbow. “What is with you?”

“I want to know.”

“Maybe… hell, Angel, I didn’t go around killin’ every bloke I shagged. I was never that fastidious.”

“Fastidious?”

Spike turned back to rest on his pillow. “Go to sleep, Angelus.”

“You use a word like ‘fastidious’ to talk about murder.”

“We’re vampires. Don’t know if you picked up on that.”

“Stop. Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Curtail any real emotion with flippant sarcasm. I want to talk to you. Really talk.” Angel’s hand ghosted over Spike’s arm. “I don’t really know you. Not any more. Not… if I ever did.”

The confession made Spike release a tension he hadn’t known he was holding. Angel pulled his body close, as perfectly in sync as one breath and the next. His hand splayed protectively on Spike’s stomach.

“What’s to know?”

“I want you to tell me your sins,” Angel said, and kissed Spike’s shoulder.

This was serious, genuine, priceless, but Spike had to slap his hand off his arm and say, “We playing _that_ game, are we?”

Angel chuckled, a rich, deep sound, and nosed along the nape of Spike’s neck. “Come on, Spike, say ‘Bless me, Father, for I have sinned…’”

“Not on your fat Catholic ass.”

Angel’s hand slid down to Spike’s pelvis, still flat, smoothing pubic hair. “Tell me. I count my own sins so often it’ll be a change to hear someone else’s.”

Spike took in a long, slow breath. “Murder,” he said.

“We know that. Go on.”

“What’s to say after that, Angelus? I killed people. A lot. For fun, for food, for no bloody reason at all.” He looked at his hand, lying on the bedspread. He turned it palm-up. “There was this one bloke… just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Snatched him to keep him from running and then realized I wasn’t hungry. Coulda let him go – there was no reason not to. But I snapped his neck, just to enjoy the sound of it.”

“Are you contrite?”

Spike stirred, but Angel’s arm clamped down, holding him still. “What the hell, Peaches?”

“Tell me. Do you seek forgiveness?”

“There isn’t forgiveness for that. I put a moment’s amusement over another man’s life. I knew what I was taking. Had my wits about me, all those hundred years, and I chose to do what I did anyway. Because I was that selfish, that depraved. There is no forgiving that, and you know it.”

Angel kissed him behind his ear. Spike tried to flinch away. “I forgive you,” Angel said.

His hand descended the fractional inch to cup Spike’s flaccid cock. Which, wanton that it was, twitched.

“That’s it? No penance?”

“Forgiveness first.” Angel kissed the shell of his ear. “This time. Tell me another one.”

“That’s wonderful pillow-talk, that is, peaches. You want another murder? Wrath? Sloth?”

Angel picked up Spike’s awakening member, handling it with practiced ease. “Let’s concentrate on the sin of lust, first, lad.”

Spike twisted to try and see Angel’s face. “Serious time over, then, Angelus?”

“ _Father_ Angelus,” Angel corrected, with his second most evil smirk. His fingers were undulating now, coaxing fullness from soft flesh.

“It’s been two hundred years. I’d think you’d have gotten over being Catholic by now.”

Angel’s hand tightened ever so slightly on Spike’s cock. “’Bless me, Father…’” he prompted.

Spike sighed. “Bless me, father, for I have sinned. I let a wicked old pervert touch my willy.”

He was rewarded with a slow lick to the back of his neck, bristling the small hairs like a cat. “I bet you liked it, didn’t you, naughty boy?”

“Not half as much as I’m going to… ow!”

***

Angel had a shower stall the size of a small apartment. Spike got in first, not caring so much about adjusting the temperature or lining up poofy bottles of – was that body wash? Moisturizer? Poof.

He sighed as a sticky grime of cum and blood liquefied and sluiced off. He turned under the water spray, running his hands over his body and taking count of bruises and injuries. All told, he got off light for an Angelus reunion.

There had been minor penance paid, though he was pretty sure the church fathers never thought of using a rosary in quite THAT capacity. Still, the beads WERE counted.

He could distinctly feel the cross-shaped burns on his backside as soap suds slid over them. And why did Angel even have a rosary? In his bedside drawer? It didn’t bear thinking about too closely.

Angel stepped into the shower and set down his loofa.

“You know,” he said, head tilted down and looking surprisingly boyish, “After you confess, you get to take communion.”

“You have really got to get some therapy, mate.” Spike rolled his eyes, but also slid gracefully to his knees.

Angel braced himself against the wall, letting the hot water beat over his neck while the delicate texture, so complex, of a mouth opened on the head of his cock, hard nubs of teeth rubbing past and that sweet, soft tongue dipping into the slit to send jolts of intense pleasure through his body.

He opened his eyes to watch Spike’s head bobbing, hair darker now and plastered more smoothly to his skull. He was on his knees. Angel tried not to take as much pleasure from that tiny fact as he did. But there it was… just the thought, that he stood and Spike knelt, had him grimacing to hold back his orgasm.

Spike had one hand on the base of Angel’s prick, massaging it in time to his mouth’s ministrations, while his other hand worked on his own, sliding foreskin back and forth with squelching soap.

His eyes were closed. Pretty dark lashes. Spike was so pretty like this.

And when they were washed and done the guilt was still going to be there, and the loss, and he was already starting to wonder if Spike wasn’t there, down there, oh god down there… just because of guilt and remorse.

Angel’s hands slipped from the wall with a loud squeak. He grabbed Spike’s head and fucked into his throat with all the violence and disregard he couldn’t use on a human partner. Spike just opened up, let himself be used.

For now, Angel didn’t brood about it.


	9. Why We Fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I can't finish writing something and wait a second to post it. It's a weakness. So here's the latest CF!
> 
> WARNING: Those of you who want Happily-ever-after Spike/Angel? Just accept that 8 was the LAST chapter. I'm dead serious. Angel begins his descent into absolute Dick-Dom here.

Spike had a moment of panic, waking in a bed not his own, a lifeless arm heavy across his chest. Always the same most fearful thought: Did I kill someone?

But it was just Angel. Angel, whose smell he’d know in the last stages of senility, and the bed was soaked in it like an unwashed whore in cheap perfume. He let himself relax into the soft bedding, the smells of familiarity and sex, the well-used lassitude aching in his joints. “Well,” Spike said, “Waking up with someone. That’s a rare and pleasant experience.”

Angel stirred, then blinked at him with fuzzy-headed slowness. His gelled hair was a wild mess. Spike had to stifle a laugh.

“Spike?”

“Yes, Peaches. Memory coming back or do I need to give you a play-by-play? Short story: we shagged.”

Angel ran a hand over his face. He slowly sat up, checked the bedside clock, and then put his feet on the floor with a sigh. “Getting too old for these long nights.”

“Ha bloody ha.”

Angel groaned. “At least you get to sleep in. I have to get downstairs in an hour.”

He trudged to the bathroom scratching his bare behind. (Which was quite a cute little rump roast, Spike observed.)

Spike watched him go. Was this it? Was he just going to rest the day away, here, in Angel’s bed?

It seemed more than a little weird.

The water in the shower turned on, and Spike didn’t feel the least bit sleepy, so he got up and poked around Angel’s things for a bit before finding his clothes and putting them on.

His clothes were mostly right by the lift, which made for an amused chuckle and memory. How indecent a pile of fabric could look, bathed in cheery morning light. Especially with Angel’s pants dragged over his.

Denim felt very rough on sore skin, but that was part of what Spike liked about jeans. Roughness. He ran his fingers through his hair to gauge the level of poofy curl. It was probably a Fauntleroy scale 8. Fortunately, finding hair gel in Angel’s apartment was like trying to find water on the ocean floor.

Angel came out of the shower with a cloud of steam while Spike was still feeling over his head to make sure it was right.

Angel threw his towel on the bed. “Why do you do that?”

“You know why.”

Bare, warm and soap-scented arms wrapped around Spike’s dirty t-shirt. “Go back to bed,” Angel said.

Spike laughed. “Not tired, you poof. Besides, dodging the sun it takes nearly an hour to get to my place from here.”

Angel’s arms tightened. “Your place?”

“Yeah. My flat. Apartment. Four walls surrounding my clean pair of pants.”

Angel wasn’t moving. Spike twisted in his embrace, coming nose-to-nose with a very petulant Angel. “For fuck’s sake WHAT?”

“I don’t want you going back to Lindsey’s apartment.”

Spike said, “It’s not like he’s going to be there.” It came out with more venom than he realized he felt.

Angel’s eyes softened. He leaned in for a soft kiss, which Spike started to avoid but didn’t. “Just stay here,” Angel said. “Take a shower, go back to bed. I’ll have someone get you fresh clothes, or even wash these while you wait.”

“That’s a lovely sentiment, but I got things to do.”

Angel leaned back, raising an eyebrow. “I have a TV.”

Spike scowled. “You think all it takes to buy me is telly?”

Angel shrugged. “Well, that and I’ll be coming back up here for lunch. And you’ll be naked.”

“Oh, will I?”

“Mmm,” Angel nodded, his smirk widening into dark lasciviousness. “If you don’t want to buy new clothes you will be.”

Spike leaned back against the comfortable support of Angel’s big hands on the small of his back. “Well,” he said, “I think I’ll just… take a shower and go back to bed.”

Angel kissed him on the nose. “TV’s in the front room. Remote’s in the wet bar.”

“Wet bar?”

“Behave,” Angel said, and disentangled to go to his closet.

***

Angel’s TV was larger than some cinemas Spike had been to. A wooden panel slid off the wall to expose it and in no time he found a satellite sports channel to give him all the info he could ever want on the current state of football.

It’d been a long time since he paid attention – a soul and an apocalypse and lack of cable could really cut into a sport fan’s knowledge. The names of the players had all changed on him, and teams that sucked were now doing well.

It occurred to him suddenly that he must have spent a solid decade, all told, just watching football.

And it was pointless.

The whiskey soured in his mouth. He took another long swallow and shook his head. Brooding was Angel’s game. He shifted forward on the couch, clasping his hands and really concentrating on the game. It wasn’t pointless. Timeless. The drama of athletic achievement and chance. This was life. Life on a grassy field with endorsements.

And didn’t he deserve a little time off after the day he’d had? The scars on his heart were as fresh and painful as the bruises Angel had left on his arse. Surely this called for high-quality liquor, high-definition television, and a butter-soft leather couch.

By the time Angel came home for lunch, Spike was in a decidedly good mood.

***

Angel stood stunned as the doors to his apartment opened.

Spike leaned back on his couch, arms tucked behind his head. “Isn’t this what the vampire ordered?”

Angel made a small, strangled sound at the back of his throat and dropped his briefcase. “I said… naked… thought that would mean…”

Angel looked to the undisturbed bed, and then back to Spike in all his glory.

He hadn’t realized that couch had the perfect color to offset his pale musculature. And Spike had obeyed his request – his hair was in soft, bedraggled curls, washed and un-gelled.

Angel had planned on talking, seriously. Maybe they were rushing things. Maybe it was just the grief throwing them together and…

Spike tilted his head back, long expanse of throat stretched out, open, ready, one dark eyebrow arched.

Angel lost all ability to think. Fortunately, his body still remembered how to unfasten his tie and step out of his shoes as it stumbled forward, drawn by what felt like a hard, tugging hand on his dick.

Or that could have been his own hand. Huh. He’d gotten his pants off.

Spike’s eyes twinkled with amusement as he rose to help Angel divest himself of his last pieces of clothing. “Figured if I was going to play ‘kept boy’ for the day, I’d do it right.”

Angel was all fumbles, but he couldn’t wait. His mouth, his hands, his cock all need to touch skin NOW.

They tumbled off the side of the couch and knocked the coffee table away, grabbing, wrestling for leverage and dominance.

“Ow! Angel! Wait! You prick! Wait!”

Angel had both his hands curled into the curve of Spike’s ass and had to lift himself on his elbows to meet Spike’s scowling face. “What?”

“I’m sore, you daft git. Remember last night when you tried to rip me in two with those giant mitts of yours?”

Angel let his fingers trace more carefully along that smooth curve of skin. He felt the delightful rough patches – still stinging to his own senses – where the cross had burnt into the otherwise smooth skin, and he felt something slick and pleasant all around the rosy hole when he dipped his fingers in. “You prepared.”

“Yeah, but I’m still sore. Let up, let’s not do that yet, all right?”

Spike looked honestly pained, so Angel withdrew his fingers, brought his hands up and around to stroke his bare sides instead. “Okay,” he said, and, with an effort that felt like swallowing his own face, he stilled his wild lust and leaned down for a soft, exploratory kiss, which was gratefully and sweetly answered.

Spike gathered up his erection and squeezed it. Angel moaned his appreciation and humped the blonde’s fist. “There now,” Spike said, “Not so horrible is that? Let me take care of you, sugar daddy.”

Spike’s deft tongue brushed his jaw and Angel felt a twitch generated in his gut and all the way down to his toes as he nearly came right then.

But Spike was holding him tight, keeping him from shooting off just then, and his legs were sliding up Angel’s, satiny smooth and damn he loved that feeling of ankles hooking behind his calves while teeth nipped at his neck. He felt the velvet-over-steel of Spike’s cock against his. Spike was holding him, rocking. The delicious texture of his abs lifting and undulating, playing him gently – too gently.

With a roar he threw the blonde back onto the couch, on his stomach. He grabbed legs, pushed them apart.

“Wait… Angel!”

“No waiting.” Angel slid home with one hard thrust.

It was relief. A cool balm on a hot itch. Angel sighed and relaxed against Spike, who was stiff and still under him, hands gripping deep into the leather upholstery.

In a shaking voice, he said, “I said no.”

“Spike, you like it rough. Just shhh… relax… relax it’s going to feel great.” Angel made small circles on Spike’s back with his thumbs.

It was easy to take it slow now. Angel shifted his hips, enjoying the tight flesh around his cock while he stroked and soothed Spike. The younger vampire trembled a little, at first, but those passed, and he sighed, seeing his shoulders adjust and his hands not gripping so hard anymore. Spike pushed back. “Okay… okay that’s just… you can move. Come on.”

“Sh,” Angel teased, still stroking and playing all along his back and sides and stomach and chest. He rubbed Spike’s nipples and rubbed his stomach, he kissed his neck and felt his returning erection. “We have a whole hour baby. Just relax.”

That sweet round bum pressed harder against his groin. “What happened to rough?”

“You made yourself gorgeous and laid yourself out for me and then told me I had to wait. Turnabout is fair.” Angel tickled the soft indent below his ribs and Spike shifted his weight to one hand so he could turn and slap him.

Angel caught his wrist and pushed it back into the pillowed back of the couch. “Behave or you won’t get any.”

He couldn’t see it, but somehow he knew Spike was rolling his eyes. So he shifted his hips, pulling ever so slightly out and back in again. Spike hissed, one fist curling up to bang the back of the couch. “Fuck.”

“Eventually.”

“Not gonna beg. Prick.”

“You will. Eventually.” Angel let his fangs come out and scrape over the nape of Spike’s neck. The younger vampire shivered and bucked. “But first, I’m going to taste every inch of you.”

Spike’s head tilted down, exposing his long, lovely nape. He shivered as fangs pierced his skin.

Angel took his time, tasting the salt of sweat the bitter tang of soap, the sweet body underneath it all. And as he traveled over neck and shoulders and down to the succulent ribs, he rocked, gently, ever so gently fucking, keeping himself hard, drawing the pleasure out like slow taffy.

It was a soft pleading whine that broke him, coming from Spike’s parted lips as Angel scored the underside of his left arm. Angel felt a shudder and had to hold still a moment.

When he no longer felt like any slight movement would tip him over the edge, he grabbed hard to Spike’s shoulders and fucked for all his worth.

It didn’t take long before they were howling, seized together like malfunctioning engine parts, flesh compressed as far as it could go as finger bones clung to hip bones and the whole system shuddered, shuddered, stopped.

***

“I’m not going to walk right for a week, you giant yob.”

Angel looked up from re-fastening his pants. “Is that even a word?”

“It is, and I could use worse ones, poof.” Spike winced as he reached for his duster.

Angel stopped in the middle of buttoning his shirt. “You’re putting on your coat?”

Two slow blinks, two raised eyebrows. “No. Just thought I’d rub my backside with leather.” He shrugged the rest of the way into the coat and lovingly smoothed down the lapels.

Angel frowned, a little confused, but he kept buttoning. “I’ll be off work around five. Usually. Sometimes six.”

Spike shifted awkwardly, not quite looking at Angel. He ran a hand over his head. “You want…?” He looked up and sighed. “Do you want to leave separate, like? So people don’t know?”

"I thought you'd stay up here."

The vulnerability was so clear in his liquid blue eyes. Angel crossed the room in two quick strides and had his arms around Spike before the last was done. He kissed him. “You don’t have to leave.”

“Get off,” Spike slapped him lightly. The vulnerability was gone, his usual irritating punk mask back in place. “’M not some blushing maiden.”

“You want me to tell the others? We’ll call a board meeting.” Angel ducked his head and smiled playfully. “Lorne might start attending them more regularly with announcements like that.”

Spike tilted his head, expression softening, his lips parted and Angel thought he was going to kiss him, but then he just shook his head and stepped back. “Nah. Thanks for offering, love. It means a lot. But… let’s wait a bit, yeah? We’re so fucked up. Could just be one real bad day and a couple shags we both sorely needed. No sense up-ending the whole apple cart, right?”

Angel wondered why he felt rejected, having thought much the same things. “Right. Still.” He laid his hand on the soft, familiar leather on Spike’s forearm. “Let’s walk down together and let them talk.”

“We could do that,” Spike acquiesced, and allowed himself to be lead to the elevator.

Angel was a little disappointed there was no one around when he and Spike stepped off his private elevator into his office. Spike gave him a knowing smirk and sauntered out of the office with a rolling gait that was at least fifty percent sore-bum limitation.

Which, yes, he could admit it, filled Angel with glowing, smug pride. He settled into his desk and hit the intercom to let Harmony know he was back.

***

Five o’clock found Angel watching the clock and his office door alternately.

Harmony came in with the last of the day’s reports and asked if she could go. For the first time in days he nodded, sending her home on time. She fairly skipped all the way to the door, telling him he was, “An awesome bossy! And don’t let anyone say you’re _always_ mean!”

He tried to read all of the papers she had given him before looking up at the clock again. He succeeded until 5:12. He finished the papers at 5:26, having checked the clock many, many times in the interim.

He thought about going to the break room on the other side of the floor for a quick blood, but worried Spike might come in just as he was gone.

So at 5:30 exactly (having waited for the clock to reach that milestone) he went up to his apartment.

He almost expected to find that Spike had snuck past him somehow, and was waiting on the sofa. But the room was dark and uninhabited. Even the air was mostly clear of their morning’s exertions. The cleaning staff at Wolfram and Hart were definitely one of the more frightening forces Angel had ever encountered.

He poured himself a tall glass of blood and settled down to catch the pre-show of the Redwings game. He unbuttoned his shirt and shifted around until he thought he was in an at least moderately sexy pose.

On the commercial break he altered his slouch, bringing his leg up on the couch. Yeah. That was a sexy pose.

But when the lift doors opened, he jumped up anyway, tossing the remote as he turned the TV off.

But it wasn’t the long-awaited platinum blonde who stepped forward, smirking. Angel dropped back, folding his arms sullenly. He tried to control his expression.

“Hiya, chief. Aw, come on. Don't tell me you don't recognize me. Spend time in the tube, should know your crew like the back of your hand.”

“Lawson,” Angel said through gritted teeth.

“You see there? I'm touched. Aren't you gonna ask me how I got in here?”

This was going to be good. Spike would come in any moment now and the two of them would beat this embarrassing by-blow into a more aesthetically pleasing shape. Angel relaxed back in the comfortable couch cushions. “Nah. You'd be amazed how many people break into this building on a regular basis.”

***

It was just after midnight when Spike returned to Angel’s office. “Well,” he said, stepping through the broken window that used to separate the office from Harmony’s reception area. “Really ought to do something about security. They'll let anybody in here, won't they? Fred gave me the Cliff Notes. So sailor boy finally came back for a yo-ho-ho, did he?”

“Finally came back,” Angel agreed, turning back to staring out the window.

“What was he after?” Spike strolled up to stand next to Angel, following his gaze to the view. “If it was revenge, it took him long enough. Best served cold? More like frozen.”

“He said he wanted a reason. A mission.”

“And?”

Angel shrugged. “And I staked him.”

“Now, peaches, we both know it wasn’t just like that.”

“Just like that.”

Spike rocked on his heels. “You had a soul then. I mean, you did, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“You dick.”

Angel punched him.

Spike fell against the desk, a hand against his cheek. It wasn’t the pain… he barely had gotten over the shock enough to feel the pain. It was the dismissal of the gesture. He sucked in his breath, hoping to suck back the tears that started forming on their own; what, did he think a couple shags would buy him Angel’s undying love?

“Are you finished?” Angel asked.

“No.” Spike rubbed his sore jaw. “You made a vampire-of-convenience, and now you’re sore, why? To have it pointed out what an arse you are, even with a soul?”

“I did what I had to do for the greater good.” Angel flexed his fist. He stood over Spike, glaring in a way that dared him to try and stand. “What were you doing? Going to ‘free virgin blood parties’.”

Spike pulled himself up against the desk, keeping a wary eye and a crooked arm between him and Angel. “You kicked him out of the sub. And me! To take our chances against the sun.”

“You were vampires. You would have eaten the crew.”

“Don’t know why I expect different. You were probably a dick when you were alive. Why can’t Lawson have redemption? Are we any better than him?”

“The world doesn’t need any more ‘good’ vampires. It needs no more vampires, period.”

“Then why don’t you just go stake Harmony, then.” Spike gestured wildly, angrily at the door. “Girl gets your blood every morning, schedules your appointment. Any so-called good you get done in this hell-hole relies directly on her work, but she’s on an all-liquid diet so let’s just kill her, yeah?”

“Give me an excuse,” Angel said.

“You’re un-be-fucking-lievable, Angelus. Excuse me for trying to offer some comforting words.” Spike shifted his coat back into place and started for the lobby.

He was thrown back toward the windows, landing in a startled pile.

Angel’s nostrils flared with hard breaths. “Maybe if you had been here,” he said, “I wouldn’t have had to stake Lawson. Maybe Fred and Wes and Gunn wouldn’t have been strung up in risk of their lives. Maybe I wouldn’t have to beat you right now.”

Spike blocked Angel’s kick with his forearm and scrambled away from the follow-up punch. He backed toward the lobby, frowning in confusion. “Is that what this is? Angry because I didn’t come running to suck your dick soon as the clock struck five?”

“Where were you?” Angel tilted his head, eyes narrowing with a sudden thought. “With Harmony?”

“No! Not with Harmony, you jealous poof! My god, is there no one you won’t…”

Spike was too startled by the ludicrous claim to catch the next punch.

He blinked away the stars while Angel paced in front of him. “You so much as lay a finger on my personal assistant I’ll have human resources lock you from the building.”

Spike’s mouth set into a narrow line.

Angel only realized he was on the floor when the hem of Spike’s duster fluttered over him. “Fuck you, Peaches. I’m going home.”


	10. Contrition Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Angel is surprisingly un-dick-like!!
> 
> Warnings: Um... things go well, sorry, no badness this chapter. Consider it a break. ;)

The security staff thought Angel had come to chew them out about Lawson getting into the building and threatening most of the senior staff. So Angel obliged them with a rant – peppered liberally with growls and glares. It never hurt to have the staff afraid of you.

Almost as an afterthought, at the end, he asked if they could find out where Spike had been all day yesterday.

“Do you want us to put the tail back on him, sir?”

Angel grimaced, feeling the moral quandary like a stomach ache. Fortunately, the security officer took his expression differently and nodded. “Of course, sir, sorry for asking.”

Angel froze on his way out, suddenly realizing something. He turned back the security chief. “He can’t know he’s being followed. I’m serious. The man who Spike sees tailing him will lose his job, or worse.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll make sure that is known.”

Wolfram and Hart security took death threats almost glibly.

Angel sighed and trudged back to his office, feeling like a big, ugly, rejected tyrant.

Harmony rose from behind her desk as he approached. “Bossy. Your eleven o’clock is early.”

He scowled and looked for a clock. How long had he ranted at security?

Harmony hurried to him with a one-sheet summary and a couple post-it notes written in Wesley’s cramped hand.

Not really meaning to, he leaned toward her and took an experimental sniff. Not that he thought Spike… well, he _had_ run straight for Harmony when he corporealized…

Angel was knocked back with an ice-pick sensation to his sinuses, a lance of overpowering chemical scent lacing to the back of his skull.

“Oh! You noticed my new perfume? It’s so hard to find something feminine that doesn’t irritate the vamp senses, you know? When I was alive, my favorite…”

“I’m late,” Angel gasped, and waved her away.

He had to blink through the tears to find his meeting room.

All through the meeting, all he could think was, “I’ve really screwed up. Spike isn’t coming back. Spike is in Outer Mongolia by now. I’m going to be utterly alone the rest of my days and damn do I deserve it.”

“Angel?” Wes was looking at him with some irritation that indicated this was not the first repetition of his name.

“Uh… sorry. What…?”

Wesley rolled his eyes in that tight way only he had, that never left your face or alerted the others in the room that he was mocking you. Angel felt two inches high. He tried to remember Wes when he’d been less confident. “I wasn’t paying attention,” Angel admitted. “I’m sorry.”

***

Spike paced his apartment – HIS, damn it, not D… Lindsey’s. (“Damn Lindsey”, he amends in his mind, giving the ‘D’ something else to stand for.)

He had $6.28 in his pocket – the remnant of a twenty Damn Lindsey had given him to buy blood and smokes four days ago. He had half a pint of blood left in the fridge – a thermos stolen spitefully from the Wolfram and Hart staff room. And he had one bottle left of beer – an IPA Lindsey liked and he didn’t.

He had a place to stay, at least – for the rest of the month or however long Lindsey had paid up the lease.

Less than a month after supposedly ‘finding his destiny’ he was back to just existing. He paced from the kitchen table to the bed and back, crumpling the cellophane wrapper from his cigarettes just to have some destructive noise. He didn’t want to trash anything he could maybe sell.

He had to get out of here – out of Angel’s town. He’d sell the playstation – someone might want that at least – and steal a car from Wolfram and Hart. (His soul really, really had no trouble with property theft from the openly evil.) Just wait for after five, when most of the minions went home…

He threw the crumpled wrapper at the wall.

He hated waiting.

Someone knocked on his door.

Spike froze in place, confused. Who could possibly knock on his door? Who knew where it was?

He opened it to see Fred waving at him. She had a paper bag under one arm. “Can I come in?”

He stepped back. “Sure, Fred.”

“I have a bone to pick with you.” She waggled her finger and headed straight for the table. “You never even THOUGHT about having a house-warming, did you?”

“Uh… no.”

She pulled a bottle and a box out of the bag. “Well, I brought one to you. Hope you like tacos.”

“Love them,” he said, still sounding startled. He pulled out the table’s one chair and held it for her. “What brought this on?”

“A girl can’t take time out of her busy day to spend time with her second-favorite vampire?”

“Second favorite? Did I beat out Harmony?”

Fred swatted his arm and went back to her professional unpacking of the box of tacos. There were little cups of hot sauce and wax-paper to unwrap. She smiled proudly when she had at last exposed the tortilla-wrapped beef. “You never even told me you had a place. I had to find out by hacking the security reports.”

“Fred, you minx!”

“Naw,” she waved a hand at him and adjusted her grip on her taco. “They use a simple site-to-site security so all I had to do was guess Angel’s password – which was so not hard.”

Spike leaned forward. “So what’s the old poofter’s password?”

She shook her head until she finished swallowing a mouthful of taco. “Oh no. I know you’ll do something silly and then he’ll change it and I might need that in the future.”

“Probably for the best.” Spike shrugged and leaned back against the kitchen counter. “I’m leavin’, Fred. Fast as I can get out of here. I mean… it’s not really my place, is it? Got no way to pay next month’s rent, when it comes around.”

“Oh, Spike! You know you have a job any time you want one. Heck, I’d pay you out of my department in a heartbeat.”

Spike had to smile. “Think I’d make a good guinea pig?”

“You’d be my lab assistant, silly!”

“Naw, love, thanks for the offer, but it’s not about money. I just don’t think two vampires with souls can live in the same town together.”

“Now that’s the craziest thing I ever heard. You and Angel should be relying on each other. I mean, who else knows what you’ve been through? I know Angel can be all gruff sometimes, but he means well, and he does worry about you. Gosh, you should have seen him when your hands got cut off. I thought he was going to wear a hole in the ground with his pacing! The poor doctors…”

“Oh, I know the old poof cares, in his way.” Spike picked up a taco and examined it, deciding on the best unwrapping strategy. “But me and him… we’re too different. Or maybe not different enough. He’ll never see me as more than I was, Fred. He talks about forgiveness, but he hasn’t forgiven himself a damned thing in one hundred years; do you really think he’ll forgive me? No.” He took half the taco in one bite and waved the rest of it at Fred to emphasize his point. “We’re both better off surrounded by people who don’t know what we are. Too much of a reminder, him and me. It’s like wearing a bloody rosary.”

Fred crossed her arms. “Well I think that’s cowardly, running away because it’s too hard or too complicated to deal with him.”

Spike straightened, glaring. “I’m not running away!”

“Good,” Fred winked. “Because I could really use a lab assistant who can survive explosions.”

***

Angel stood in his office, holding the security report. Spike had been alone all the time he was away. He'd played video games for four hours and fallen asleep with a beer in front of his TV.

Angel felt like dirt. He called for Gunn, who now stood, expectantly, waiting to hear what this was about.

“Gunn, of all my friends you’re the most…” Angel rolled his hand, helpless to finish the sentence.

Gunn raised his eyebrows. “Handsome? Charismatic. Intelligent?”

Angel scowled.

“If you can’t spit it out, I have to guess, don’t I?”

Angel set his palms flat on the desk in front of him. “You get along with people.”

“Ah, I think you want Lorne for this.”

“No, I mean… I trust you, Gunn, to tell me what to do.”

Gunn folded his arms and sat on the armrest of one of Angel’s chairs. “Who’d you piss off?”

“I didn’t say I…” Angel sighed at Gunn’s knowing look. “Spike. I think I chased him off for good.”

Gun shifted his hands to his pockets. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“No. Yes, maybe… I.” Angel ran his hands over his head. “Look. I want him back, okay? What do I do? If it was Cordy, I just bought her lots and lots of clothes. Spike… every time I’ve bought him clothing, and okay it wasn’t that often, but trust me, it didn’t go over well.”

Gunn shook his head slowly and got to his feet. “Angel, Angel. You have much to learn.”

“I mean, one hundred years ago? He was wearing the equivalent of a black tee and jeans. It’s really that hard to get him to wear anything remotely fashionable.”

Gunn paused, eyes ceiling-ward. “I didn’t mean about fashion. Think you have that one covered.” When he looked down, meeting Angel’s eyes, Angel had the disquieting feeling that this is what it felt like to face Gunn from the witness stand. “Tell me why you want him back. I want details, and I want you to be honest, or I can’t help you.”

***

Fred and Spike were on the couch, having finished off the tacos, and Spike was explaining the controls to Crash Bandicoot when there was a knock at the door.

Spike glanced up, frowning. The knock repeated.

“Aren’t you going to get that?”

Spike set down his controller with a sigh. “Only five people know this address, pet. And three of them are counted out on account of being here already or in hell.” He opened the door without looking. “What?”

Angel lowered his knocking hand. “Um… I…” He raised the six-pack of beer Gunn had picked out for him, and then his eyes fell on Fred. “Fred! You’re here. That’s… that’s unexpected.”

Spike said, “Yeah. Thanks for stopping by, she’ll see you at the office,” and started to close the door.

“Wait!” Angel stepped forward, holding the six-pack of ungodly priced imported beer in the path of the closing door. “I brought beer!”

Spike plucked the six-pack from Angel’s grip and let the door swing into his arm. “Ta,” he said and fished one of the bottles out.

Angel gritted his teeth and tried to remember Gunn’s advice. _He’s going to bait you. You KNOW that. Don’t let him._

He stepped around the door and closed it behind him. Taking a deep breath, he said the words Gunn had made him practice three times. “Spike, I’m an ass; you were right; can we just have a beer?”

To his surprise, Spike stopped, mid-guzzle, and looked at him.

Angel mentally advised himself to give Gunn a raise. Though this was hard, uncomfortable, with Fred watching them, big eyes behind the television, a game controller held defensively in front of her. Angel cleared his throat. Next step, Gunn had said, be honest. “I want you to stay. Because you’re good for me. You’re right, Spike. The deal with Wolfram and Hart, it’s seductive, and wrong. And I need someone to kick me in the pants now and again, to remind me that the emperor has no clothes.”

Spike lowered his beer. “Who are you, and what have you done with Angel?”

Angel itched to grab the note cards he’d stuffed in his pocket. “You like the beer, don’t you?”

Spike held up the bottle, peered at the label and nodded slowly. “Charlie picked it out, didn’t he?”

“Uh… no, I mean, yes. I… might have asked his opinion.” Angel rubbed the back of his head. “Fred! You’re… visiting? Isn’t it the middle of the day.”

Fred shrugged. “You know research… my hours are dictated by the chromatoscope more often than not.” When she saw Angel’s doubtful frown, she added, “Knox is going to page me when the next batch of test results are done.”

“Anything you got to say, Peaches, you can say in front of Fred.”

“Oh… I don’t…” Fred hurriedly got to her feet. “There’s no need to be awkward on my account. I… I think I hear those gel electrophoresis slides calling…”

“Yeah, Fred, I think you should go,” Angel said.

At the same time, Spike said, “You’re not leavin’ ‘cause of him! One person in this room I actually invited in, an’ she’s staying.” He set down his beer loudly.

“This is really getting awkward,” Fred said, hands out.

Angel sighed heavily. “Spike, I want you to come back. I want you to stay. Because I… please don’t make me say this.”

Spike’s eyes lit up. “Say what?”

“You call me a ‘poof’ and all that already.”

“And?” Spike and Fred shared a significant look. Fred put her hand over her mouth to hold back the stupid grin.

“You know I’m not good at this.”

Spike folded his arms and tilted his head back, looking very smug. “Fred, love, did you know vampires could blush? What do you suppose that says about our circulation?”

Fred sauntered over to stand next to Spike, arms crossed as well. “The capillary action looks as fast as on a living human. I should take measurements.”

Angel scowled. “I hate you both.”

“Aw, Peaches, we hate you too.”

Angel saw Gunn’s face. Heard himself asking, “Do I really have to say that?” And Gunn’s unbending, “Do you want him back or don’t you?”

“SpikeIloveyoupleasecomeback.”

Spike leaned forward, half-smiling, but confused. “Excuse me?”

Angel was somewhat worried that Fred didn’t look confused at all. “I want you. I need you. If you leave I… it’ll hurt. Don’t do that to me.”

There was a long pause. Spike looked at Angel like he’d been punched in the gut.

Fred made a loud “Tsk!” and waved them toward each other, “So kiss, already!”

“I’m not so sure,” Spike said. He held a hand out to Fred’s protest. “I know you want the happily-ever, love. But he’s still him, and I’m still me, and that’s not changing. Brilliant shags aside.”

Angel bit his lower lip. “I’m not asking for forgiveness. I’m asking for another chance.”

“Gave you another chance.”

“Well, I’m asking for another one.” Angel snapped.

Fred gave him a glare and he immediately shifted into a contrite expression. “Spike, please. That’s all I can say. You always knew, didn’t you? How I really felt? When you died…”

“Please don’t say you cried for weeks. We both know it isn’t true.”

“I felt relieved,” Angel said. “I was sad, but… relieved. You were a reflection of the worst things in me. Another person I ruined. And you, yeah, you screw up everything I thought I knew about redemption. So I was relieved as hell, Spike, not to have you in the world.”

“I’m guessing this isn’t the prepared speech,” Fred muttered.

Angel ducked his head. “But you came back. You came back all messed up and irritating and you were a ghost. I couldn’t touch you. You… it was worse than not having you, having you be like that. All I could think about was having you solid again, at first so I could wrap my hands around your throat and shut off all the uncomfortable, true things you said. Then it was more just wanting to touch you, and know you were there.”

Spike blinked. “And then I kicked your ass.”

Angel looked at the ceiling, sighed, and nodded.

“I don’t think you deserve a second chance, Angel,” Spike said. He stepped forward and held out his hand, “but I’ll give you one.”

Angel pulled the handshake in, wrapped his arm around Spike’s shoulders for a hug though the smaller vampire protested and twisted away. “Not in front of science girl, you poof. She already thinks we’re cuddly puppies.”

Fred was grinning almost maniacally now. “I’ll just leave you two. Spike, thank you for the hospitality and showing me your game system and all, but I have to go and, um…”

“Spread the gossip like a good busy-body?”

She half-shrugged, trying to look innocent. “There may have been betting pools.” She picked up her keys from the kitchen table and waved on her way out. “Do everything I wouldn’t do!”

Angel stared, dumb-struck, after her departure. “That, I wasn’t expecting.”

“Yeah, because you think you can actually keep a secret in a corporate environment. Haven’t watched a single episode of ‘The Office’, have you?”

“So… you didn’t tell her?”

“Haven’t told anyone a damn thing, you know that. Suspect your people just know you better than you know yourself.”

Spike stepped back. He watched Angel warily.

Angel flexed his hands, hating that look and not sure what to do about it. “Did it work? My apology?”

“They tend to work best when you don’t ask. And you didn’t exactly apologize.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Do you mean that?”

“Yes?”

Spike sighed heavily. “Peaches, you don’t even know what you’re apologizing for, do you?”

“I hit you. And I was stupid and jealous.”

Spike shrugged. “Close enough.” He held out his arms. “Come on, before I lose my temporary insanity.”

Angel folded his arms around Spike. They both felt the other’s strength, squeezing perhaps a little too hard, muscle against muscle. Angel brushed his cheek against Spike’s. “So can there be makeup sex?”

“Don’t push it.”

Angel made a disappointed noise and rubbed his nose along Spike’s neck.

Spike sighed, melting into the tightening embrace. “You’re so lucky I’m easy.”


	11. Smile Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I can't help but post this. I'm weak, and it's **ash_carpenter** 's birthday soon so I want to get past the 'fluff' and to the really dirty porny part of this story quickly for her!
> 
> Warnings: This is SMILE TIME. Some minor mis-use of puppet!Angel. "Fluff" doesn't quite cover it, but, eh, you'll see. (I couldn't stop laughing the whole time I was writing.)
> 
> You all still believe that this is going to be a dark fic, don't you? A little?
> 
> *cough*

Angel fingered the reports from security. Wow, was Spike’s life dull. He looked at his phone and thought about not calling. They’d done this every morning this week.

But he couldn’t stop his hand from reaching for the phone. He jabbed the number on speed-dial that Harmony had programmed for him.

As usual, it was several rings before Spike picked up. “Oh good, I was beginning to think I’d get to sleep in for once.”

“Good morning, Spike,” Angel said. He was still working on the ‘don’t bait him, don’t let him bait you’ premise Gunn had set up, but it was getting tiring.

“Look, I said I’d be in this afternoon, and I will.”

“What are you going to do until then?”

“Fuck about. What do you think?”

Angel sighed. Under his hand he could see reports on everything Spike had done for the past week. ‘Fuck about’ did sum it up. “I care about you and I want to know what you’re doing.”

“Every fucking minute of the day? Peaches, even I don’t care about me that much.”

Angel shifted the phone against his ear so he could hold it with his shoulder. He flipped through the report. Video games. The occasional vamp slaying. “I don’t think it’s healthy for you to spend so much time alone.”

There was a pause. “I was alone all the time in Sunnydale. Did all right. Look, Angel, I know what this is about, okay? And it’s cute… really. You want to see me more. But don’t think if I was around all the time you wouldn’t get bored.”

“I wouldn’t!”

“Angel, love. I’ll be over by noon, okay? Maybe we’ll get some lunch.”

Angel smiled. It was a small victory, but one nonetheless. “Yes. Great. Meet me in my office at noon.”

Spike said something inscrutable and hung up. Angel didn’t have time to be annoyed, however, as Wesley was approaching his desk. “Good morning, Angel. Did you get Nina all settled, then?”

Angel set his phone down and grimaced. “She asked me to breakfast.”

“Oh? And how did you respond?”

“Well, of course, I, um, ignored it completely, changed the subject, and locked her in a cage.”

Wes lowered his chin. “Angel.”

“What? It’s not just breakfast. It’s… breakfast. We had this perfectly nice platonic thing going and I’m… I’m not sure…”

“You’re going to have to let her know you’re in a relationship, Angel. It’s only polite.”

“I’m in a relationship?”

It was Wesley’s turn to look confused. He adjusted his tie. “Yes, well, Fred informed me, that is… you and Spike…”

“It’s not a relationship,” Angel said. He drummed his fingers on the broad expanse of desk, looking at the phone.

“So you aren’t involved?”

“Wes, don’t make me… there’s… involvement, but it’s not a relationship. Yet. And not for lack of… the thing is, if I wanted to get breakfast with someone, shouldn’t they be willing to have breakfast?”

Wesley squinted. “Are we creating a euphemism?”

Both men looked confused when Fred walked in. “Am I interrupting something?”

“No. Absolutely not.” Angel jumped up. “What can I do for you, Fred?”

“We have a problem. Well, possible problem. Children are slipping into comas, with a strange facial rictus…”

“We need to work on this right away,” Angel said, walking around his desk to take the folder Fred held. “Children are in danger.”

“But, Angel, we have a minute or two to discuss the situation with…”

“Nope. No, this is serious. Fred, why don’t you take Wes and fill him in on the, um, specifics? I’m going to call these kids’ parents.”

***

Spike felt a little guilty about how hard he’d been on the pouf that morning. Angel had, for once, not called him back five times to confirm their lunch appointment.

(Lord, if he had known holding out turned Angel into this kind of slave, he’d have crossed his legs years ago. Not that Angel was always panting after his bum. Still, it was a nice new bit of power over the old man.)

So, to reward Angel for his good behavior, Spike strolled into his office just a few minutes after noon.

He knocked on the door after stepping in, and scanned the empty office. “All right, Shirley. Let’s get lunch and still pretend we got balls, right, because…” his voice left him as his eyes took in the cute puppet propped up in Angel’s chair.

His first thought was it must be a joke on the big guy, probably done by Harmony or Fred, but the puppet moved, on it’s own. It’s wee bushy brows lowered and it said, “Spike, just turn around and walk away.”

“Look at you!”

“Spike…”

“You’re a…”

“Just let it go.”

“Wee little puppet man!” Spike’s mouth was open, smiling as broadly as a carnival clown. He started to laugh uncontrollably.

Angel felt the rage swell through his cotton-batting-filled head. He launched himself through the air – he really got good loft easily. There were some advantages to being a fifteen pound puppet.

Spike just laughed as Angel grabbed onto his arm and reached back to punch him. Felt fists made a soft impact. He growled and put his full body behind the next punch.

Spike stopped laughing. “Ow,” he said, and gave Angel the most condescending little frown, “Now that’s enough of that.”

He threw Angel off of him. He landed on his feet, the most adorable pissed-off expression on his adorable little face.

Their brief tussle had backed them into the lobby area. Harmony got up from behind her reception counter, leaning over to stare (and, incidentally, expose her admirable rack.) “Oh my god! Angel! You’re…”

Angel straightened his miniature jacket with his three-fingered felt hands. “What are you all staring at?”

Spike couldn’t hold back his guffaw. “They’re staring at the wee little puppet man!”

Angel growled – and wasn’t that _precious_? He leapt at Spike again, sinking surprisingly sharp foam teeth into his forearm.

Spike batted his arm around wildly, trying to dislodge the toy bloodsucker. They tumbled into the elevator.

“Limey bastard!” Angel shouted, trying hard to punch with little felt fists and kick with his precious little toy shoes.

Spike laughed and just hugged Angel to his chest. “Angel… mate… you’re fuckin’ adorable!”

He leaned back. “Does Fred know? Tell me Fred saw this.”

And Angel’s big glass eyes misted, his fluffy brows canting in sorrow. His felt lip trembled. “I’m ridiculous.”

Spike set him down. He bit his lip and then, sighing, looked up. “Buggering hell, Angel, those eyes… look, if it’ll help, we can pretend you kicked my ass with puppet-fu, all right? Scare all the minions back into respect?”

“They’ll never believe it.”

Spike smiled. “Sure they will. One thing I know how to do is get my arse kicked.” And Spike blithely threw himself at the wall, landing in a convincing prat fall. He winked and then closed his eyes, rolling his head on the wall and groaning.

Angel felt his puppet-amplified emotions taking him away. He ran on little legs up to Spike and hugged him hard. “You… you’re my best friend.”

Spike patted the top of his wee puppet head. “You really are a little pouf now. I mean, like a pillow, you know?”

“Move in with me.”

“Not again, Peaches. And not now. C’mon... things are…” he snickered, “obviously complicated at the mo’, yeah?”

“Why do you keep turning me down? I have plenty of room and that little crap apartment isn’t paying for itself. You’re going to have to move out soon.”

Spike shook his head and again ruffled the soft tuft of hair on top of Angel’s head. “Fred is working a contract to get me paid a small stipend for helping out – no soul-signing or any of that bollocks so it’s taking longer than usual – but I should be able to pay rent next month.” He leaned back, smiling down at Angel’s scowl. “Aaaaaw! Come on, don’t look like a grumpy teddy! You should be happy it’s not going to be Damn Lindsey’s apartment anymore.”

“I won’t wait forever, Spike.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’ve had other offers. A very nice girl asked me to breakfast.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Like dog-girl is really going to put up with you like I do. Probably use you as a chew-toy.” He laughed and poked Angel’s miniature belt-buckle. “What you got under there, anyway? Are you a Ken doll now or did they magic you a teeny felt cock?”

A fuzzy little fist smacked into his nose with the force of a lead brick, and Spike’s head cracked back against the elevator paneling.

Little puppet man could still pack a punch.

Angel had to jump up to press the ‘open doors’ button. “Stay away, Spike,” Angel said. He walked into the lobby, adjusting his lapels and glaring imperiously up at his staff. “Yes. I’m a puppet. Doesn’t mean you don’t have work to do!”

***

“Oh, there are signals,” Lorne said, looking up from his cell phone. “Nina definitely wants a piece of the Angel cake.”

Spike looked embarrassed. “That… I mean, not what I was really asking.” He looked out the door of Lorne’s office to see if anyone had heard.

“Lemon drop,” Lorne shook his head and held up one finger. “Tony? Yes. Twelve is good. But no canapés this time. Kiss kiss.” He closed the cell phone. “You don’t need to be empathic to read the sparks between you and Angel. The only reason Fred won the ‘coming out’ pool was because she took all the earliest dates before I could.”

“Coming…” Spike’s confused expression darkened into a frown. “Forget it. I gotta go. His fluffiness doesn’t want me around while he’s doll-sized.”

“If you think Angel wants to see LESS of you, you’re sadly mistaken, sugar cookie. He doth protest too much, if you know what I mean.” Lorne’s phone rang again, and he held up a finger, again, apologetically. “Yes? Oh good. Yes, we need to get to the man himself. You can do it? Rodrigo, you are a lifesaver. Literally.”

Spike stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets. “Not like I want to see the little dick. Probably driving him mad he can’t loom over anyone,” he muttered, and turned out the door.

He nearly stepped on Angel, who glared up at him. A cute felt scar ran across his face now. “Wot happened to you?”

Angel just shouldered past his leg – which ought to have been insulting if it wasn’t so cute. He had a sword across his shoulders. “Lorne. We’re going,” he said.

“Just a minute, Angel-cupcake,” Lorne said.

Spike looked down at Angel, frowning. “Does he always call everyone desserts?”

“It’s a thing,” Angel said, felt lips locked tight.

“Right.” Spike turned down the corridor. “Can see where I’m not wanted. Have fun catching Geppetto.”

***

Spike’s cell phone rang the next morning. He blinked the sleep from his eyes, glanced at the bedside clock (which he had thought he would keep just to ignore) and smiled. The old pouf was still on schedule, puppet or no puppet. He picked the phone up and dragged a hand over his face. “Happy seven a.m. to you, too, Peaches.”

“Spike?” Fred’s voice replied.

“Uh, yeah.” Spike sat up. “Something wrong with Angel?”

“Oh no, well, yes. But not wrong as in hurt or anything worse than the usual. But I was just arriving, and… Spike! I … I don’t know how to say this. Or even if I should, but Angel gave Harmony your cell number and I got it from her and…”

Spike stood and wandered toward the kitchenette. “Spit it out, love. You’re liable to start my heart beating with all this drama.”

“Angel went to breakfast with Nina.”

“Oh.” Spike paused, blinking at his hand on the refrigerator door. He tugged it open and peered inside. One Chinese take-out box of indeterminate age, two beers, and half a plastic carton of pigs blood. Mmmm. He took the container out and set it on the counter next to his one mug. “It’s just a meal, right? I mean, Angel doesn’t even eat, you know. Too stuffy to… hey, is he still a puppet?”

“The seers say two more days, tops.”

Spike let out a sigh and felt his shoulders unkink a bit. “Well, no worries then. Can’t be jealous of a puppet, can I? What’s he gonna do, cuddle?”

“I can’t believe you’re so calm about this. He’s adorable! Nina won’t be able to resist him.”

Spike shook the plastic container to get the last bit of blood to flow out of it faster. There was a congealed bit at the bottom. Double-yum. He was worried, which was stupid. Wasn’t he the one who had just threatened to leave the poof? “Look, either he’s serious about giving wolf-girl a go, or he’s just trying to rile me because I wouldn’t roll over for him. Either way, I’m thinking it’s best to just ignore him, have some brekkie, and keep on with the day I had planned.”

“Well, I’m going to spy on him,” Fred said.

Spike tried to keep the relief out of his voice. “You do that, love. Right special friend you are. Call me back and we’ll pretend we’re the Avengers or something.”

“I’ll hide behind a plant and if they get too cuddly I’ll tip it over and create a scene!”

“You’re joking, right? Don’t want to get stuck in a sit-com here.”

“Oh, Spike!”

Spike sipped the cold blood and grimaced. He had to get a microwave soon. Right. Think on the practical. “Any word on that job?”

“I filed all the requests. I think there’s, like, four more stamps and signatures to get through, but I don’t see anyone in HR objecting. Most of them are scared of me, or at least of Angel. Next week, I promise, at the latest. I’ll be able to give you a promissory note – trust me on this, landlords get them all the time. My Aunt Ruthie, lord, she couldn’t make it month to month if you stapled rent money to her calendar.”

“Fred, love, you’re my knight in shining labcoat. What did I ever do to deserve you?”

“Oh!” He could hear her smiling. “I heard a rumor you saved the world once.”

“Not nearly good enough,” Spike assured her. “Gonna have to save it five or six more times just to make up the difference.”

After they said their affectionate farewells and hung up, Spike stood alone, looking at his half-empty cup of cold, slightly congealed pigs blood. He didn’t have the stomach to force the rest of it down.

He grabbed one of the last two beers instead. One of Angel’s apology beers. Damn, but the bastard was cute when he tried not to be a complete, well, bastard. Spike washed the blood taste out of his mouth with strong, cold beer, and sighed. The truth was, he wasn’t mad, he wasn’t anxious – he felt sorry for the old git. Could he even drink a beer with his flappy puppet lips?

Spike shouldn’t have made that crack about his cock. Poor bugger might not be able to even feel turned on right now. Certainly couldn’t do anything about it.

Spike set down his beer. He had a sudden, and very disturbing, image of Angel-the-puppet, his little slacks open, a three-fingered hand clasping a pink felt cylinder, flat little thumb stroking over the fuzzy pink knob. Would a puff of white cotton shoot out like silly string?

There was so, so much that was wrong with this whole situation. No, he was staying the hell away from it.

The only problem was, two beers wouldn’t get him drunk, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to Wolfram and Hart to raid the mini-bar. He sighed and walked to the couch, hoping a few hours of dedicated game playing would banish the image from his mind.

***

Angel stood in front of his desk. He reached up to touch the top edge. He could just get his felt fingers around it. Was he getting taller? He sighed. Two more days. Tops. They promised. What if they were wrong?

He walked gloomily around his desk and, with a grunt, climbed up on his chair.

The security reports were there, as always, with his cup of blood – which he wouldn’t drink this morning because he’d already found that blood just ran out of his felt-backed mouth. (Where did his voice come from then? Magic was weird.)

He’d also discovered that blood was really gross to get off of a puppet, but his felt didn’t appear to stain. He also hadn’t felt hungry since he’d mimed eating at breakfast. Maybe that was all puppets had to do.

Harmony came in, all glitter and pink, waggling more than usual in her walk as she beamed at him. “Morning, cute little bossy!”

Puppets, Angel had found, could, in fact, get headaches. “You cancelled all my in-person meetings, right?”

“Indefinitely.” Harmony flipped the calendar on Angel’s desk – which was thoughtful of her, actually, because he’d have to crawl up onto the surface to get to it. “Just have a few things for you to sign. One’s an approval to hire Blondie-bear without a contract.” Harmony bounced a little, spreading the manila folder open in front of him. She adjusted his pen to point at the bottom line that was labeled “Authorized Signature”.

Angel picked up the pen and scanned the document. “We’re allowed to hire people without a signed contract?”

“Well, it’s not a hire. It’s pay-for-work, and it has to be under four thousand a year. Also, it has to be renewed every quarter, and only with your approval as CEO.” Her sculpted pink fingernail pointed to each of the salient points in the form.

Angel put his pen back down. “I’m not signing it. Have this shredded. If anyone asks, HR never made the approval.”

Harmony pouted. “But I like having Blondie-bear around. And I thought…”

“He’ll be around, Harmony. More if we’re _not_ paying him.” Angel pushed the papers away form himself and slipped a little from the effort – his shoe-bottoms were slick vinyl and didn’t hold good traction on the leather chair seat. “Also, do me a favor. Find out who owns Spike’s building, how much his rent is, and when it’s due.”

“Oh,” Harmony winked at him knowingly. “That’s how you’re playing it. You are smart, bossy.” She gathered up the papers.

Angel grimaced at the idea of being called “smart” by Harmony. After she left, he crawled onto the desk and flipped his calendar two days forward.

“Turn back into real boy” he wrote on Friday. Then he flipped to Saturday. “Spike moves in.” He wrote. He tapped his pen on the edge of the calendar. Too soon to hope? He flipped back. Tomorrow still had dinner with Nina marked. He sat back and sighed.

The pen made weird, hollow paper box sounds as it tapped his hard lips.


	12. Moving In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For **ash_carpenter** 's fantabulous birthday, I have decided to throw posting order to the wind, push through, and write another chapter of "Compatible Faults". Because Ash, she loves some slash.
> 
> Warnings: Angel is not overtly a dick, unless, y'know, you think about it. Lots of happy mansex. Perhaps the happy Spangeler's coulda read to this chapter before giving up. :D

“It’s lost?” Spike ran his hand through his hair. “How do you lose something like that?”

Fred shook her head, shuffling through papers on her desk. “I don’t know. Carol in HR said it was all set to go through, but now no-one knows where the request got off to. I re-submitted it twice.”

“Rent’s DUE, love. Past. And Mrs. Park has turned into Godzilla. I swear I saw fire shooting out of her eyes.”

Fred bit her lip, letting the useless documents fall. “Why don’t I just give you…”

“No.” Spike hugged his duster tightly around himself. “Not takin’ bloody handouts.”

“But you do work around here. Lots. You… kill things.”

Spike shook his head. “We both know I’d do that anyway. Let’s face it, bein’ a hero doesn’t pay.” He sat on the edge of a lab bench. “I’ll have to move, is all.”

“Are you sure? Didn’t Mrs. Park let you slide last month? I mean, if she was willing to let one month slide…”

“Told you. Spirits of Bastard Landlords Past have inhabited her or something. She wants cash by Friday or I’m out. Looks like out. Don’t worry your head. Not like I’m attached to the shit-hole. Plenty of cheap apartments to be had with no southern exposure and sewer access. Just gotta look for ‘em.”

“Stay in the guest suite here. It’s still available.”

“Just worried, pet. If I start living here, how long before this place becomes my whole life?”

Fred raised an eyebrow. “You mean you have a life, Mr. Spending-Friday-night-in-my-lab?”

“Well if you’d hurry up and finish whatever-it-is, we could go get a beer or something.”

Fred waved at him. “It’s called ‘science’ and it takes a while.” She went over to peer at an array of incomprehensible indicators and lights, then typed on her keyboard a bit.

Spike sighed, bored. He bounced the heel of one boot on the toe of the other. “Pawned the playstation. Twenty bucks they gave me for it. Can you believe that? Wankers. All pawn shop owners are bastards.”

“It’s not fair,” Fred said. She snatched a pair of safety goggles off their hook and gave him an apologetic smile. “You do as much as anyone to fight the bad guys. You shouldn’t have to lose your things.” She peered into a little glowing box that reminded Spike of nothing more than Spock’s computer terminal on Star Trek.

“Was a present from Doyle, anyway. I mean Lindsey. Fucker.”

There was the sound of someone running down the corridor outside. Spike straightened, stepping to intercept, in case it meant trouble. The shoes squeaked to an abrupt stop and a few moments later, Angel walked in, hand in pocket, trying to look like he hadn’t been running.

“Oh, hi!” Angel said. “Spike. Didn’t, uh, expect to see you here.”

Spike and Fred exchanged smug glances.

Spike sauntered up to Angel, tilted his head and grinned. “So you weren’t, say, watching the security monitors or nothin’ and had to run down here as fast as your Neanderthal legs could carry you just to see little ol’ me?”

“No.” Angel scowled. He stuck his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels, “But now we’re all here, wanna go get a drink?”

Fred pushed Spike’s arm. “Go. I’ll be fine here on my own.”

Spike suddenly felt oddly shy. He’d been avoiding Angel since the great puppet caper. Now, here he was, all flesh and smooth, perfect, touchable skin. Spike swallowed. “Good to see you all adult-sized an’ all.”

A scowl passed over Angel’s features until Spike took his arm and lead him to the door, laughing, “C’mon, Peaches. Let’s see if all your parts came back the same.”

The scowl deepened, then blanked into shock and Angel was still saying, “Um… oh!” as Spike pulled him down the hall.

They didn’t make it to the bar, or to the elevators, for that matter. Four steps down the hall Angel recovered and grabbed Spike, pulled him into an embrace, feeling him all over, the hard curves of his musculature under his clothing. “I missed you,” he said.

“You’re the one was reduced to convenient carrying-size,” Spike admonished, and gasped, rising up as Angel’s hands kneaded behind him. “Easy – you’re pawin’ me a new arse!”

“Yeah?” Angel looked up at Spike and raised an eyebrow.

Spike relaxed down into his arms, their mouths met in passing and lingered. Just as Angel pressed forward, Spike pulled back. “What are we doing, Angel? It’s not like you and me can just say ‘fuck off’ to the past and…”

“Spike?” Angel kissed him. “Shut up.”

And Spike kissed back, and felt those big hands lifting him by the ass again – and didn’t mind so much, wrapping his legs around the thick, solid trunk of Angel while he walked them the four or five more paces they made it before slamming against the wall for the added friction it afforded them.

They twisted, falling together down the length of the hallway, wall to wall, on the floor, crawling a bit, then, laughing, Spike pulled free and raced Angel back to his suite.

Angel caught him with an animalistic cry and pounce, and they rolled on the floor, squirming out of clothes, enjoying the feel of flesh – sweet flesh, smooth and unchanged, forever young and flawless. Their hands consumed touch voraciously while their eyes drank in the sight.

Angel poured down Spike’s bare form, licking and kissing and touching every nuance and curve of flesh. He groaned appreciatively, and then, without warning, engulfed Spike’s cock to the root.

“Ah! That’s it, you big bloody poof.”

Angel drew back so his lips loosely ringed the top of Spike’s cock. “Spiih?”

“Yes, Angel?”

“Duhn’ cah me gay whah Ah’m blowin’ oo.”

Spike laughed helplessly from the feel of Angel’s attempt to talk- tongue flexing up and down, the vibration of voice. “Of course not, you bender, poufter, nancy boy, fairy, fudge packer…”

Angel growled around his cock, which didn’t exactly discourage Spike, who was writhing now, caught between laughter and the exquisite stimulation. “Fuck, Angel, gonna come… gonna… cut that out, fagot!”

From the hard pull of his tongue and the greedy noises he was making, Angel didn’t care. Spike arched off the floor and felt himself practically turn inside-out into Angel’s mouth.

He fell back on the carpet with a gasp, airless, shocked, and, now the fog of lust was passing, rather uncomfortable and cold.

Angel crawled up him, making cute little growling noises and repeating his earlier process of kissing and touching every part of the body supine beneath him. “Gonna fuck you now, boy.”

“Good, because you’ve sucked my brain and motor control out my cock, so I don’t see me doing much in the mean... uh!”

Spike gasped as Angel pressed into him, slow and sure and unstoppable as a glacier.

“Ow fuck! Bastard, wait!”

“No waiting,” Angel said. He wrapped his arms around Spike’s shoulders and pushed the man down onto his cock, grimacing himself at the painful resistance until at last he was firmly seated where he wanted to be, and could pause, and wait for muscles to relax and the blood he could smell to lubricate the way.

“Woulda taken five seconds to get some slick, or spit, you great monstrous pillock,” Spike muttered.

Angel kissed him. “Would have had to stop touching you.”

Spike hissed, but already the pain was dissipating. “Ponce.”

“You like me being a ponce,” Angel said, licking the edge of his ear.

Spike snorted, but leaned into the gentle motion of Angel’s torso. “One of us has to be the girl, I guess. Glad it’s not me.”

Angel pulled himself up. “I am, currently, on top, penetrating you, so if one of us is a girl...”

“Don’t strain your tiny brain, Peaches.” Spike wrapped his legs around Angel’s hips and lifted to him, kissing the big pouf’s nose. “Just fuck.”

Angel growled. He could be so beautiful when he was needy, his eyes flashing, his forehead lowering, powerful shoulder muscles bunching and releasing as his whole body stroked back and forth. Spike almost came again just from the sight. He let his eyes close, his head fall back, and gave in to the feel of it, that powerful body, locked in his embrace, pounding him into the floor.

Grinding made heat even between dead bodies, and sweat, liquefying a grime of the day, lint, traces of saliva and semen, skin brought sore and sensitive while Angel groaned and huffed like a great bear.

When at last he gasped his climax and fell like two hundred pounds of exhausted vampire-skin-rug, Spike was feeling even less like he could ever possibly move from the spot. The floor, no doubt, had been re-molded to fit the curve of his backside, if it had a curve anymore. Or perhaps his skin and the carpet had fused together into one sticky blood-and-wool mix.

“Gonna need the world’s biggest spatula, mate,” Spike said.

Angel gave a half-hearted chuckle and kissed his shoulder, shifting so he was lying beside rather than on top of Spike. He ran his hand over Spike’s stomach, smoothing rapidly cooling sweat. “You drive me crazy with wanting you. And you know it. I… I always need what I can’t have, and having you a ghost, and then…. Stay with me, Spike. Please. I want you to stay.”

“You missed the part where I am completely incapable of moving?” He kissed the top of Angel’s sweaty head. “By the way, I haven’t mentioned you smelling like eu de wolf-girl because I’m not the sort of bloke who brings that stuff up.”

Angel’s hand froze. “We… Spike…”

“Don’t start hyperventilating. Just was waiting for you to mention it – well, when I wasn’t being driven brainless by sex.”

“It’s not anything worth mentioning. We had dinner. A couple times. Some kissing. I’m trying to let her down gently.”

Spike managed to lift his head an inch and turn it to meet Angel’s eyes. “Not tryin’ to make me jealous?”

“No. Come on! Spike, I’m serious about… whatever this is.”

Spike smiled and kissed him. “You’re a twat, Angel, but you’re my twat. And I’m not the jealous type, yeah? Just want to be sure I’m who you really want to be with.”

Angel picked himself up on his elbows, shoulders shifting like a lion preparing to pounce. “I want you, Spike. I want to keep you here, naked, in my apartment, so I can have you whenever I want, and never, ever let you go.”

Spike’s cock twitched. He looked down. “Fuck, mate, you can wake the dead with that sexy growl of yours.”

“Stay with me,” Angel repeated. It only sounded a little like an order.

“All right. All right! I’ll stay. We’ll try it out.” Spike let his head fall back and shook it at the ceiling. (And how was it even Angel’s _ceiling_ looked expensive? It was just plain white plaster with recessed lights – he’d certainly been fucked while looking at fancier.)

Angel hurriedly kissed his shoulder, his neck, and his cheek, while Spike casually tried to bat him away. “You won’t regret this. It’ll be so good. You’ll love the room I set up for you.”

Spike raised one eyebrow at his presumption. “You cheeky bugger!”

***

He had to admit, it was a nice room.

After they had recovered, and each had a shot of whiskey, Spike had lectured him on not presuming to know whether or not Spike was going to do any such thing as move in. Angel just smiled through the rant, hands clasped in front of him with that unfairly cute expression he got whenever he knew he was getting what he wanted.

The unmitigated cheek!

When Angel felt enough time had passed (and Spike really hoped the sod hadn’t just been counting inside his head while he spoke) Angel jumped up, took Spike’s hand, and dragged him across the apartment to the door to “his room”.

“It was a closet,” Angel said, pulling the door open. “Isn’t this neat?”

Spike stood in the door, scratching his elbow, and couldn’t say anything for a full five minutes, lest he actually agree. “’S all right,” he was finally able to choke out, and step into the lavish little space.

It was bigger than the converted closet at Xander’s – which Spike had almost brought up, but now couldn’t because the only thing closet-like about this room was the lack of windows and the door opening out instead of in. Cedar cupboards lined one wall, true, but they were large enough to be closets in their own right and what closet in history presumed to have its own closet?

There was a full-sized bed, covered in red satin. The back wall was painted black, and hung with vintage concert posters of the seventies, all neatly matted in red and behind glass, which was poufy and Spike wouldn’t have done it himself, but still, the thought floored him.

On the wall beside the door was a flat-panel TV big enough to be used as a wading pool, and on a cedar-and-glass credenza below it sat all three of the major game consoles.

Angel stood behind him, beaming. He gestured at the chrome-edged doors on the cabinet. “I got you a selection of games too. Lorne told me what was current. He’s kinda scary how much he knows about pop culture.”

Spike turned over the package for a game he’d seen advertised and looked forward to playing five years or so from now, when it and its console would be cheap. “Whereas it’s scary how little you know,” he quipped without enthusiasm. He placed the game back reverently and tried to get a rein on the rampant commercial _glee_ that was running through his veins like a kid at Christmas. He turned to face Angel, catching a glance at the CBGB’s concert poster – damn it not helping – and closed his eyes. “Angel, Sire, pet, boss… I told you I didn’t want to feel like I was living off you, didn’t want to take hand-outs, and you set up a ROOM for me?”

Angel frowned. Gifts made people happy. This was one of the very few social things he knew COLD. He looked around at the carefully selected furnishings. Had Spike seen the well-stocked bookshelf where comics and poetry lived in sin with literary classics? “I… I just wanted to do something nice for you.”

“You wanted to tempt me.”

“No! Spike!”

Angel looked so lost and confused, Spike melted. “Damn, you just can’t help it,” he said, and stepped forward. He put his hand on Angel’s shoulder. “Thank you, Peaches, from the bottom of my heart. The room is a soddin’ wet-dream.”

“There’s a stereo,” Angel said, smile returning just a little in hope.

Spike let himself be led to the cabinet. “Of course there’s a stereo – probably quadra-fuckin’-sonic and a base booster under the bed. Did you get me some of them nice, cheesy compilations too? Don’t worry, I know how hard it is to get your hands on punk these days.”

“Actually, Lorne suggested you might like these better,” Angel pulled the doors open to reveal a stacked shelf of classic vinyl.

Spike almost fell to his knees. First issues… rare reprints. LP singles. Lionel Hampton and Bessie Smith and his favorites from the thirties – how the bleedin’ hell had Angel known about them? Little-known acts and one-hit wonders he and Dru had seen in the sixties. Raw college bands of the ‘80s. And of course, all of The Ramones, The Sex Pistols, The Clash. “Lorne must have some audio-freak trolling all the resale shops in California!”

“So… you like it?”

Spike picked an album at random and slipped it from its paper sleeve, checking the unspoiled surface of black vinyl. He ran his hand over the edge, checking for nicks and finding none. “Think I know how you felt when Wolfram & Hart waved their honey-pot in your face,” he said in a quiet, reverent voice.

Angel’s hand folded over his. “There’s no contract to sign. There’s no promise, no obligation. These are gifts. You could leave here and take them, if you really want. Well, not the room itself, obviously. But that’s the spirit in which it’s intended.”

“I’m trying really hard to be angry at you but I’m having a consumer orgasm right now, Peaches, and it’s not helping.”

He felt Angel step behind him and wrap his arms snugly around his waist. “I can turn that into an actual orgasm, free of charge.” He kissed the nape of his neck.

Spike slipped the album back into its place and leaned into the comforting embrace. “This doesn’t mean you can buy me,” he said, sternly, as he reached up to feather his fingers through Angel’s hair.

“That’s what makes you so amazing,” Angel whispered, running his palm over the stretched ladder of Spike’s ribs.

“Tell me you’re always gonna be like this,” Spike said. “No fuckwittery and whinging when you don’t get what you want… just this? You and me, partners, going out and saving the world. Slaughtering bad guys.”

“Sounds perfect,” Angel said, nuzzling Spike’s neck, smelling sex and sweat and his own scent mixed with that indelible Spike-ness.

He turned Spike, now languid in his arms, and walked him to the bed, which, as requested, was a high-quality, soft mattress. He remembered how much Spike had complained every time circumstances had left him sleeping somewhere hard as a young vampire. They sank deep into the pillowed top, satin blankets pooling around them as smooth and tactile as vampire skin.

They kissed and explored each other, no hurry now, wriggling and twisting up to a more central position on the bed, scratching each other’s itchy shoulder blades and kissing each other’s hungry lips.

Angel pulled back the coverlet. “There’s another feature,” he said, bringing a black leather restraint up from behind the mattress.

“Now I’m sure you’re evil again,” Spike admonished with a smirk.

“You always liked…” Angel frowned, “That was a joke, right?” Spike laughed, and Angel relaxed. “Do you trust me?” He held the restraint as high as it would go, against his cheek.

“Last time you asked me that, you were a soulless bastard and I regretted it for months.”

Angel shrugged. “I’m good now.”

“Yeah, and I don’t trust you. But it’s leather, so yeah, let’s have a go.” Spike smirked at Angel’s gleeful smile and laid back with a sigh as the leather was hastily drawn around his wrist.

Angel hurried to the other restraint and paused. “If… if you start to feel uncomfortable…”

Spike lifted his leg and kicked Angel in the shoulder. “Still a vampire, Peaches. Don’t insult me.”

As soon as Spike felt the restraint securely fastened, he hooked his legs around Angel’s torso and tossed him onto the mattress hard enough to make the structure groan, laughing the whole time. Angel immediately tried to leap up. Spike adjusted his grip, walked up Angel’s torso as Angel wrestled his way up the bed, hooked his knees around Angel’s arms, held him tight as he twisted.

Angel was trying not to loose all control at the display of flexibility and strength and, quite frankly, insubordination. “This is a game you’re going to lose, boy,” he growled as Spike held him off with a foot against his sternum.

“Yeah,” Spike said. “That’s the fun part.”


	13. Underneath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *rubs hands with glee*
> 
> Spike has a very very bad day, though it starts out good. Hints of non-con, some general nastiness, oh, and Lindsey!!

Spike awoke pillowed in comfort, unsure where he was. He raised one arm and a chain fell against his wrist, dangling broken from a leather cuff.

That’s when he remembered, and he groaned, covering his eyes. He reached across the bed and felt the rumpled depression where Angel had slept. His other wrist was bare, that leather cuff having given out before the chain.

He sat up and looked at the showplace of a room. All neat and tidy and designed for him. Red, black, white, chrome. He unbuckled the leather cuff and tossed it into the white shag carpet. If it was going to be his room, time to start messing it up.

He looked over the shelf of albums again, the orgy of entertainment, and sighed heavily. Maybe, if it wasn’t so much… but no, he couldn’t accept it even if it was Harris’ old closet and a couple 8-tracks, it was bought with tainted money, all of it. Satan’s apple, Persephone’s pomegranate seeds, however you looked at it, this was the honey-trap to hell.

He closed the door and headed toward the shower, which he could hear running.

Angel had his back to him when he entered the bathroom, his tattoo and the livid scratches and bites from the night before visible through the fog-free glass. Spike admired the gentle motion of his shoulders as Angel washed his front, the stretch of his neck as he moved his head back to let the water run down his chest. He really was beautiful, and Spike didn’t look forward to the pout he was going to get when he said he wasn’t staying after all. He reached for the shower door and Angel glanced back, just then, and saw him. A smile bloomed over his face and he turned to open the door and pull Spike in with large, soap-covered hands.

Angel wrapped around him like a hot comforter. He kissed and nuzzled his neck, the inside of his mouth cooler than the outside, and drew Spike under the water. “Morning,” he said, when he’d finished exploring every inch of his left side.

“Yeah,” Spike said, gasping a little and chuckling. “Poof.”

Angel’s open mouth skimmed over his and dipped to caress the right side of his jaw. “Go ahead, call me ‘poof’, call me ‘Peaches’. You’re staying, that’s all that matters.”

“Fuck,” said Spike, and he blinked up into the shower spray. “Angel…”

“I missed you, missed… this.” Angel ran his hands over Spike’s sides, his face a picture of grateful awe. “Having someone. Living with someone. I lied to myself, said I was used to being on my own, even that I liked it. I don’t. I’ve missed you, William.”

“Fuck. Don’t.” Spike wriggled out of Angel’s embrace. “You’re really makin’ things hard.”

“Right,” Angel moved his hands to Spike’s hips and sighed. “I know. You don’t like being called ‘William’. But it’s your name. I like knowing that so few people know your real name,” Angel added with a seductive smile, running the back of his fingers up against Spike’s cheek. “You can be everyone else’s Spike,” Angel stepped close, hands turning possessive, “but you’re _my_ William.” He reached for the shower gel and started washing Spike. “And neither of us,” he kissed the side of his face, “ever has to be alone again. Why did I ever fight this?”

Spike groaned. “Washing” was more of a euphemism than description for the way Angel passed soap and fingers gently over him, teasing and caressing every sensitive spot. He wasn’t going to walk out, Spike realized, and they weren’t going to have any more serious talking.

Angel spread his legs, bent his knees and hunkered down to kiss and nibble all around Spike’s throat and chest while his hands worked soap less and less randomly. “You were right; I was repressing, I was denying, I was a million things stupid, Spike. I don’t deserve this.”

“Damn straight you don’t, poofter. You going to be uncharacteristic and actually use lube this time?”

Angel groaned. He picked Spike up and turned him to the wall. “Tell me when you’ve had enough,” he said, one big, flat thumb circling Spike’s entrance.

“It’s just a shower, Peaches. No reason to put on a grand production every time we… fuck, do that again.”

Angel chuckled and went to work in earnest, massaging Spike’s firm round cheeks and pressing diligently, oh so carefully, oh so skillfully between. Just so, opening him up, pressing the sides where it felt so good, thrusting now with just one finger.

He made sure Spike was thrusting back, cursing a blue streak and making filthy promises before he finally fucked him.

Angel was late to his second meeting, and missed the first entirely. Harmony started to lecture, then got a whiff of him and just said, “Oh. OH. Well, at least someone’s getting some around here.”

***

Spike felt odd, coming down from Angel’s apartment to grab a quick lunch at the commissary before the Executive Staff Meeting of Team Angel.

The commissary had beer – which was fortunate. Spike hadn’t been to a business meeting before in all his hundred and fifty-some years of existence, but he was pretty sure they would go much smoother if one had a beer or three on hand.

That, and he had to do something rebellious to counteract the positively schmaltzy expressions Angel was turning on him every time they passed. Poof.

The meeting started with Percy and Charlie-boy and Fred all reading off laundry-lists of grey-area compromises and decisions. Angel frowned at Spike. “Spike? Something you want to say?”

Spike set his beer down. “Yeah, there is. You’re all arguing about the lesser of two or three evils here, the lesser of two evils there. Problem is, they’re all still evils, aren’t they? When are we going to stop treading evil, as it were, and get to the bad guys?”

Wesley leaned forward on his elbows, “You’re new to this, Spike. The situation is complicated.”

“So uncomplicate it. Shouldn’t we be trying to find out about these senior partner wankers? Aren’t they the powers that bugger around here?”

There was an awkward silence.

“Yes,” Angel said, straightening in his chair. He tossed his pen down. “Let’s do that. What Spike said.”

“Angel, you sure you aren’t,” Gunn scratched the top of his head. “You know, letting yourself be influenced.”

“Spike and I are together,” Angel said, and smiled a little as if shocked and pleased at his own words. “We’re together, but that doesn’t mean I’m biased to his opinion. His point is valid. We should start being pro-active. Right now. Executive decision.”

The table erupted in objections; Charlie talking about ‘impending litigation’ and Fred gushing about ‘my experiments’. Wesley just frowned, deeply.

When a pause arrived, it was Wes who said, “We have no means of learning about the senior partners. In many ways we are as far removed from them as when we were based at the Hyperion.”

“What about the cat?” Angel looked at Charles.

Gunn shifted in his seat. “Can’t ask the cat for everything, Angel. I don’t know if he’ll even talk to me again. It’s not – it’s not a giving sort of entity.”

“We do know someone who knows the powers,” Fred said, hesitantly. All eyes turned to her. “Uh… Eve?”

***

Angel and Spike walked away from Eve’s apartment. It was hard to feel heroic after threatening a frightened, skinny little girl. It was even harder to deal with what she’d offered them. They made it to the elevator in silence.

“Lindsey,” Spike said.

Angel looked straight ahead, his face revealing nothing. “That’s what she said.”

“Peaches, don’t do the stoic shtick on me now. We’re talking about springing the not-Doyle. A man, you may recall, who spectacularly fucked with both of us.”

The elevator reached the ground floor and Angel walked out, face forward. “No, Spike. All the fucking was with you.”

“That’s what I’m talking about. Damn it, Angel. How are we going to do this thing if you can’t focus.”

“I’m focused,” Angel said. He adjusted his jacket and strode to the Viper. “More than focused. We have to put our own feelings aside for the greater good. I’ve done that. I’m good at that.”

Spike saw the tight line of Angel’s jaw as he settled behind the drivers seat. He sighed and opened the passenger door. “I’ll give you that,” he said.

***

Of course Hell was suburbia.

Hell was Lindsey smiling at them, tanned, content, easy in his stance: relaxed as Spike had rarely seen him. And with the aid of alternate dimension light, he saw those glittering eyes in the sun.

Spike wanted to yell at him, wanted to ask why – wanted something. But this Lindsey just smiled blandly at him, not a hint of recognition on his face.

Yep, this was hell.

***

Spike was hurt pretty bad. Angel heard the rasping sound of him breathing, the bubbling of blood in perforated lungs. It would be less painful if he just didn’t breathe, but Angel didn’t have time to tell him that.

Spike was bundled off to the infirmary and Angel had the dubious honor of leading Lindsey to his new holding cell.

“You want my help to get to the senior partners,” Lindsey laughed like it was the greatest joke, his head hanging loose while Angel muscled him into the elevator. “Well, stud, I can’t say I’m not willing. I hate them almost as much as you. And given how much I’ve pissed them off, any chance of taking them out is one I gotta take.”

“Don’t forget how much you pissed me off,” Angel said, leaning too close to Lindsey’s ear.

“Yeah, but you’re a white hat. Worst I have to worry about from you? Is this.” Lindsey raised his shackled hands and leaned his head back, false coy, almost brushing his lips against Angel’s cheek before Angel flinched away. “And I can live with this.”

Angel’s arm shot past Lindsey and jammed the emergency stop button. The elevator lurched to a halt.

“What are you playing at, Lindsey? I have you in chains. I have you at my mercy. You think I won’t kill you? I won’t make you wish you were dead? You know what I’m capable of, or have you forgotten?” Angel pressed against Lindsey. “How about a reminder? There was a wine cellar? Even Drusilla couldn’t stomach eating you.”

“Is that what this is about? Or is it about maybe I made you question your super-special place in the world. Huh, hero? Maybe Spike’s more a champion than you’ll ever be.”

Lindsey gasped as he was thrust hard into the elevator wall, Angel trembling with rage behind him. “You don’t speak his name.”

“What?” Lindsey struggled to breathe. “What the fuck?”

“You were nothing to Spike, understand? Nothing. You could never take my place. Not with him.”

“Oh my fucking god, this is too rich,” Lindsey coughed. He pushed off the wall with his knees and elbows, fought Angel for the space to turn slightly. Shoulder pressed hard into metal, he could breathe free and stare at Angel’s angry mask of a face. “You tellin’ me I had this big, elaborate plan to take you down, but all I really had to do was fuck your boy?”

Lindsey laughed as Angel gave him his answer with a hard shove. “Shut your fucking mouth.”

Lindsey noticed there was no objection to calling Spike his boy. “Yeah? Want to hear how when I was buried balls-deep in that tight, firm little ass of his, he swore he’d never felt anything better? Think he was implying something about you, hoss?”

Lindsey laughed again as Angel threw him across the confined space. He looked up, licking a split lip. “Love starved, that’s what he was. Absofucking starved for it. One little stroke,” Lindsey held up his hand, marveling at some memory, “one tiny hint of affection, and he was my bitch. Oh, don’t look like that, Angel. You only have yourself to blame.”

Angel’s next punch knocked Lindsey out.

Angel stood, breathing hard through his nose, a long while, looking down at the sprawled, unconscious form, before he remembered where he was and released the emergency brake on the elevator.

***

Spike was in the infirmary, lying on his stomach while a technician blotted blood from his back.

“We’ve just given him some anesthesia, Mr. Angel,” the nurse said. “It will take some time to get all the bullets out.”

“He’s coming with me,” Angel said. “Spike, get up. Get your clothes on.”

Spike blinked drug-clouded eyes at Angel. “Wot? Peaches?”

Angel grabbed his bicep and pulled him off the gurney. Spike fell and scrambled to get his feet under him.

“Mr. Angel! The procedure…”

“Can wait. He’s a vampire, isn’t he? Spike?”

Spike fumbled with his shirt, but got it on. He listed like a drunk man, shrugging back into his perforated duster.

“Wot’s this ‘bout? Was having a lovely time.” Spike squinted at the floor, watching his feet. He had a headache growing, the dull feeling of coming out of the anesthesia, the burn returning slowly to his body – back, front, all along the inside. He was a bloody sieve.

Angel said nothing until they got to his office. He let Spike go, then, and Spike gratefully sank against the side of one of the office chairs while Angel locked the doors and hit the switch that darkened the windows to the lobby.

These were not good signs. Spike coughed up a little blood, and swallowed it. “Think this could wait ‘til I’m up to par? Yeah? Whatever’s gotten you, Peaches, it…”

“I was just talking with Lindsey,” Angel said, quietly, calmly.

“Oh.”

“You’re a whore, Spike.”

“Angel, just listen. I knew you’d react this way, so I…”

Angel threw him across the room. Half bent-over, he roared, “You lied to me!”

“Technically,” Spike groaned, crawling up against the couch, “didn’t. I said it didn’t matter. Never said it didn’t happen.”

Angel picked him up before he could get to his own feet and pressed him, hard against the wall, caging him with his body. “Whore.”

“Angel…”

“Did you do it for the rent? Is that it? For the apartment, for food? What was it, Spike?”

Spike brought his arms up between them, breaking Angel’s hold. He tried to push the vampire away, but Angel was heavier, and his arms felt airless, empty from the fight already passed.

“Answer me,” Angel said, face falsely calm, he resumed his hold.

Spike gave up. Too tired to fight, he let himself hang from Angel’s grip. “You had no trouble believing I was just so fucking stupid and lonely when it was me on top. Why is this so important to you, Angelus?”

Angel stepped back and pushed him, hard, to the floor. “Don’t call me ‘Angelus’,” he said, eyes sparking fire. “You betrayed me.”

“Maybe if you told me these fuckin’ arbitrary rules of yours ahead of time I wouldn’t break them!” Spike struck the floor with his fist.

Angel slapped him. The sound carried in the room, the sting burned on his cheek, somehow worse than a closed fist, dismissive. Angel stood impassive. “Did he do you good, Spike? Is that why you were willing to take a bullet for him?”

“I took a SPRAY of bullets for YOUR plan. To save the bastard who fucked me over. So you can stop being jealous of Lindsey fucking Mcdonald, you self-righteous prick!”

Angel turned on his heel and walked back to his desk. He sat against it, ankles crossed. “Are you done?”

Spike was near hysterical. “Done? You mean are you done beating me over this bullshit?”

Angel shook his head slowly. “You betrayed me. You lied…”

“I told you…”

“You willfully misdirected. You knew how I felt, and instead of coming right out and dealing with this, you had to let me find out from Lindsey. Fucking. Mcdonald.”

Spike shook his head, sure, somehow, that he wasn’t in the wrong here, but unable to form the argument anymore. “All right. Angel, I’m sorry. Should have… told you, I guess.”

He looked up to see Angel unmoved, his face unreadable. The prick expected more? Spike sighed. His lungs burned when he breathed, still riddled with holes. He coughed and sat back, on his heels. “What do you want? Blood? Have it, it’s yours.”

“Yes, Spike, it’s mine.” Angel stood, and smiled slightly when Spike winced at the motion. He took lazy strides to close the space between them. “Every drop in your veins.”

Spike knew what was coming, he started to scramble back as Angel hauled him up, struck at him like a viper, hard, unmindful where he hit, fangs sinking deep, separating sinew and bone as the older vampire sucked and breathed hard against Spike’s neck.

Spike twisted and pushed, panicked as what was left of his strength was sapped. Angel threw him down.

“That’s mine,” Angel said, gasping a little for breath. He wiped his mouth. “And I can take it back. What didn’t pass from me through Drusilla you drank from my refrigerator. My stores. Bought with my money.”

Spike closed his eyes. “It always comes back to that, don’t it?” He felt Angel’s shoe against his knee, felt the weight of his shadow over him.

“Back to money. You whored yourself.”

“No,” Spike shook his head. “Blood, not money. It’s always blood.”

“For blood. For money. To trick yourself into thinking for half a second that someone wanted you. You whored yourself, Spike. Say it.”

Spike shook his head.

Angel smacked him again, with the back of his hand this time. “Say it. You are a whore.”

“No. I told you, I was lonely and he… he was good to me.”

“And you wanted him to keep on being good to you.” Angel’s thumb passed roughly over Spike’s jawline. His fingers curled on his throat. “So you fucked him. Spike, you’ve always been a whore. It’s such a part of you, you can’t even see it. You fucked Dru for the half-minded attention she gave you. What was it with Buffy? Blood? Protection? Or did you just like feeling like you had a _use_?”

Spike flinched when he said “Buffy” – it felt like a blow, and wasn’t the truth worse? “What do you want me to say? Tell me and I’ll say it.”

Angel let go of his throat, and he involuntarily sank onto his haunches. “I told you,” Angel said. “I’ll forgive you, Spike. I’ll forgive you everything. But you have to confess.”

“You sick bastard.”

Angel walked away. Spike watched the carpet, listened to him settling in his big desk chair, the creak of the leather and the squeak of the wheels. He was so tired, physically, emotionally. He was worthless, so why bother fighting? Why bother even getting up from this rather comfortable section of carpet? He was sore, bleeding, and just plain tired.

Angel’s chair squeaked. “I’m prepared to give you everything, Spike. Hell, I already did, didn’t I? A home. Sustenance. A mission. A reason to exist. And my forgiveness. Or you can go. You know where the door is.”

“Angel…”

“I don’t want to hear it. Unless you’re ready to really apologize, I have work to do.”

Spike laughed, brokenly, to himself. He knew what Angel wanted, and he knew that he was just desperate enough to give it. The price had been set, hadn’t it? Would Angel see the irony?

He crawled forward, because it hurt to do so, because he didn’t want to say it too loud. He rose up on his knees. “Angel. I’m a whore. I’m everything you said. Forgive me, please just forgive me.”

He hated himself for saying it. He held still, not wanting to breathe, not wanting to smell any reaction from his sire, not wanting to hear. It was done; he’d sold his pride once again. He wished he could just fade to black, now, wake up tomorrow.

Angel was walking toward him. “Say it again.”

No, you fat sod, Spike thought to himself. Wasn’t once enough? Angel’s face was almost quivering – he was holding back. Spike took in a short breath, and even over the blood in his nose he smelled arousal. Angel was a sick fuck and he knew it. Worse, Spike felt a small thrill in himself, a twitch in his groin that was almost relief; this was almost over. One more nudge and Angel would be over the edge. It wouldn’t be Spike’s problem anymore. “I’m a whore,” Spike said, and both men shuddered a little.

Angel’s hand skimmed down Spike’s shoulder, took hold of his arm, fingers pressing leather hard into his bicep, he pulled Spike’s hand up and pressed it into his straining erection. He forced the hand up and down, briefly, pressing the fine wool of the slacks into himself. He breathed hard, sharp, through his nose.

Spike didn’t look up, didn’t resist, but didn’t move on his own, either.

Angel dropped his hand. “When you’re ready to stop being a whore,” he said, “Come upstairs.”

Angel’s voice had a quivering edge to it, and his steps were stiff as he made his way to his private elevator. Spike wanted nothing less than to follow him, to be alone with him in this mood.

Spike sat alone, wondering what he could possibly do. He had nowhere to go.

Slowly, he stood, and walked to the elevator. When the doors closed behind him, he felt strangely sure they would never open again.


	14. Lawyers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Actual Non-Con this chapter. No subtlety about it. Angel fans steer clear: he's a bad bad vampire.

Angel was sitting on his sofa, staring at the grey-black screen of his turned-off television like it owed him an apology.

The doors slid quietly shut behind Spike. He stepped into the room. Angel didn’t move to acknowledge him.

“Angel, I…”

With a hard jerk, Angel undid his zipper – the sound was loud in the silence. He continued to stare straight ahead as he unbuttoned his slacks and pushed them down and open, freeing his erection.

Spike swallowed a dry mouth. “Right,” he said, and walked forward on unsteady legs. He sank to his knees between Angel’s splayed thighs, looking up briefly at the stony visage over him. Angel was hurting so bad he couldn’t speak. Spike ran his hand up Angel’s thigh.

Angel smacked it away.

Right.

Spike leaned toward Angel’s cock and kissed it, gently, just at the tip. Angel wouldn’t listen to words right now, it was clear, but action could show him he was loved. Spike licked his way up the underside of Angel’s cock, laved the head and took it immediately into his mouth, working up moisture by running his tongue back and forth.

And then, suddenly, he couldn’t do it anymore. His throat constricted hard and he gagged on nothing. He pulled back. “S-sorry. Sorry, Angel. I can’t…” He sat back on his heels. “I’ll just go, then.”

Angel’s hand caught his shoulder as he started to rise. “Where are you going?”

“You don’t want me, Angelus. Not like this. I’ll just make myself scarce.”

Angel hauled him up by his shirt-front. “You’re right. I don’t want you right now. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you walk out of here.”

“You _are_ damned,” Spike said, with an inappropriate smile.

Angel stood, pulling Spike with him, he walked him backward toward the bedroom. Spike let him. He was too tired, too beaten. Angel threw him onto the bed. “Strip. Or this won’t go well for you.”

Spike coughed a laugh and fought against his duster and his over-all exhaustion to turn and take the coat off while lying on the bed. “Don’t see how that could be, Peaches. Looks like I’m going to get fucked either way. A little violence between us is just foreplay, right?”

Angel didn’t return his smile. He stepped forward and ripped Spike’s t-shirt down the front. Spike reached for his fly, hoping to save his jeans similar treatment, but Angel was having none of that, he ripped down the front of the jeans, sending at least one rivet flying.

“Fuck, Angel! Not my jeans!”

Angel’s forearm hit him hard in the chin. He blinked away stars while the ruined denim was forcefully stripped from him.

He hit him. Spike blinked at the ceiling, not paying attention to the rough treatment his lower body was getting. That one blow resounded with meaning. Angel wasn’t half-playing this dismissal. He hated him, right now.

“No, Angel. No. Let’s stop.” Spike started to get up, only to be knocked back this time with a closed fist.

He clenched his teeth against a pained cry as Angel flipped him, palm pressing hard and salt stinging on the bullet wounds still littering his back.

Too late, he fought back, scrambling to his knees and trying to crawl off the bed, out from under the weight on him. Angel reacted coolly, efficiently, pinning him and grunting.

The sick bastard was probably glad for the struggle.

“No. Please. Just don’t.” Spike didn’t speak too loudly; he didn’t expect to be listened to. He was alone, now. “I’m sorry,” he said, and wasn’t talking to Angel anymore.

The thrust came hard, the second Angel had gotten a steady advantage, there was no pause, no adjustment, only hard, insistent thrusting punctuating a steady stream of curses. “Whore. Fucking cock-starved slut. Do you like that? Huh? That’s what you want. What you are. What you need. Is that what you want from me? Is it? Take it. This is what you are. Whore.”

Spike laid still, feeling his body moved against the bed, feeling the air draw in and out of his lungs as they compressed and released under the assault. The pain was already fading and he wished it wouldn’t. It was harder to feel the shame when you had pain to distract you.

***

Spike awoke with a flinch, his mind jump-starting right back to the last moment it remembered. The wounds and pain of the night before had dulled like the taste of cotton in his mouth. He wasn’t surprised to be alone – not even the sound of the shower to alert him to Angel’s presence.

Good. He didn’t want to see that prick any time soon. After he’d – after he hadn’t even let Spike leave the bed the night before, waking from his own slumber to growl like a bear and drag him back down, hold him down until Spike had no choice to just sleep there, covered in the bastard’s sweat and smell.

There was a note on the pillow. Thick cardstock, embossed letter “A”. He wasn’t going to read it, but it was there.

He chastised his hand for picking it up. Obviously it hadn’t gotten the memo from the rest of him, nor had his eyes, which eagerly scanned the text, scrawled in Angel’s loopy handwriting.  
  
“Sorry,” it said, “I wanted to kill last night. It was better that you stayed. But sorry.” It was signed “Angel.”

Spike crumbled the paper and threw it across the room. The bastard was not going to get away with that excuse. “I only hurt you to stop myself from hurting others” – what bollocks.

Spike's clothes from the night before were ruined. He kicked them aside and winced, feeling every moment of pain and degradation in his body as he moved. Fecker had ripped him apart. Again. He limped to his room.

His room. Spike bit back bile. He threw the door open, ripped the blankets off the bed, then threw the books off the shelves, opened the drawers and pulled out all the clothes.

Angel had bought him clothes. How fuckin’ generous. Spike kicked and smashed the room apart until his anger gave out.

Deflated, sore, he sat on the corner of the stripped mattress, looking at the pile of junk that was the room and not feeling in the least satisfied. He sighed, rolled his eyes, called himself a “sad, pathetic git,” and fished a pair of jeans from the mess.

***

Spike was sneaking through the corridors, feeling foolish, and trying to look like he wasn’t sneaking, but still it was the fact that he was peering anxiously around the corner that made him not see he was walking right into Gunn.

“Hey, Spike,” Gunn said, distractedly, eyes on the papers he’d been carrying, making sure none had fallen.

“Charlie,” Spike said. “Seen Angel about?”

“Nah, man,” Gunn said, frowning at his papers.

“Um. Good. Listen, Charlie, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Kind of busy.” Gunn held up his papers.

“Well, just some advice, lawyer-like. I went back to my apartment to try and get my stuff. It isn’t much; hell, it’s junk. But they changed the locks and the landlady won’t let me in. Isn’t there something I could do? Something injunction-brief-deposition-something?”

“Sure. To get a temporary… a…” Gunn looked up at him, and a seriously concerned, anxious expression crinkled his handsome features. “I’m… not sure.”

“Normally I’d just break in, but she had a cop right there. Swear she knew I was coming.” Spike shifted his feet, tucking his hands in his pockets. “Stupid, anyway, it’s just a pack of cigarettes. But… it’s all I got left of Sunnydale. God – can you believe I’m saying that like I liked the place?”

Gunn was still squinting, frowning. “I – I have to go,” he said, and turned abruptly around to stride back to his own office.

Spike wrapped his arms around himself. “Maybe we could talk about something else?” he asked the empty air. “I just… Christ, I need someone to talk to.”

Up and down the corridor, lawyers moved about their business, hardly noticing him standing there.

***

Angel panicked when the sunlight fell on him through the car window, jolting awake and hitting his knee on the hand brake.

The Viper was not a comfortable place to spend the night, even with the seat pulled all the way back. He ached and groaned and set about pulling the seat back up. The ocean spread before him, falsely calm. He’d driven to the overlook in the wee hours of morning, after waking up next to Spike and realizing what he’d done.

He was a coward, running like that. Worse. This was where he’d once agreed to meet Cordelia, that fateful day when she first vanished.

Angel rubbed his face with his hands. He still felt tired. He hoped Spike had found his note. That he understood the note.

The sun was now quite high, coming in the westward-facing windshield. He reattached his seatbelt and pushed the key back all the way into the ignition. He didn’t want to go back and face the music, yet, but there was no reason to stay here and brood in discomfort. He’d go to a demon bar nearby and get some much-needed breakfast to clear his head.

Angel scanned the parked cars and the few sunbathers on the beach as he turned back to the main road. He felt so alone. He hoped he hadn’t fixed it so he’d stay that way.

***

Cell 15: Lindsey McDonald.

Spike shook his head at the little paper directory. There were 30 holding cells, apparently, in Woflram and Hart. And why did no one suspect the place was evil? How many law firms had holding cells?

None of the cells were currently in use, save number 15 – chosen because it was at the near end of the hall.

He had to fill out a request form to visit the prisoner. Next to “Reason for Visit:” Spike wrote “peace of mind.”

Spike didn’t think he could have gone through with it if the form had to be sent up and signed by so-and-so and “please come back at three”… no, he would have chickened out. As it was, they just took the form, stamped it, and waved him toward a guard who walked him to the locked corridor and presented him with this door. Cell 15.

The guard raised an eyebrow. Spike nodded, and she opened the door. “You have one hour,” she said, and stepped aside to let him in.

Lindsey didn’t get up from where he sat on the edge of an army-style cot. He glanced briefly up, said, “Oh,” and looked back at his game of solitaire spread over the grey wool blanket.

The guard closed and locked the door behind Spike.

Emotions exploded in his brain, contradictory and all at once – hate, forgiveness, anger, sorrow.

Lindsey didn’t react at all. He was as calm as if they were just – what? Old friends?

Spike swallowed them back with effort, found a patch of wall to lean against, stuck his hands in his pockets and said, “So this is a Wolfram and Hart holding cell. Not bad. Step up from Sing Sing.”

Lindsey placed a card. Without looking up, he asked, “You were in Sing Sing?”

“First trip into the States, yeah. Bloody learned a thing or two about passports then. 1928 I think it was. That place was shit. Couldn’t hardly stand up in a single cell without hitting the wall with your elbow.” Spike looked up at the acoustic tile ceiling. “This is nice, though. Cozy, even.”

“Been in worse, that’s for sure,” Lindsey nodded. “The Juvie prison back home was designed to make you hate looking at it – all that institutional green and bars on the windows. How’d you get out?”

“What?”

Lindsey finally looked up. The right side of his face was mottled with orange and purple that had been hidden from Spike’s sight by the gentle fall of long hair. Yet his expression was calm, even cheerful. “Out of Sing Sing. How’d you get out?”

Spike shrugged. “Killed a couple guards, ripped a grate off a window. The usual.”

“That’s the usual, huh?” Lindsey scanned the plain white walls, as though he hadn’t really looked at them, the past 48 hours trapped within them. He cracked a slight smile. “Too bad I don’t have any windows.”

“Right.” Spike nodded. He pushed himself off the wall. “Well, I can stand here and pretend I’m just an old mate popped in for a chat until our hour is up, but I think you know why I’m here.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, Spike. That was never part of the plan.”

“No. No. Wasn’t about me at all. I get that. I was just a tool to get to Angel. Suppose you’d have rather fucked him, too. Don’t feel bad; you can say it. Everyone does.”

Lindesy threw down his cards. “Don’t be a dick about this.”

“Oh? Sorry. Wasn’t aware I was, _Doyle._ ”

Lindsey stood, arms spread. “You want to take a piece out of me? Be my guest. Angel already had his turn, guess it’s time for yours. I did what I had to do to fuck with the senior partner’s plans.”

Spike winced, just a little, imperceptibly. Somehow, the dark bruises brought out the sharp brightness of Lindsey’s blue eyes. Spike hurriedly looked elsewhere, trying not to think of where those bruises came from, of what else Angel could have done. “Don’t pretend this was for the greater good. It was about Angel, just Angel, and you know it.”

Lindsey shrugged and let his arms drop. “Partially Angel. Hell, okay: mostly. He’s a dick. Everyone goes around acting like he’s the god of all boy scouts and can do no wrong.” Lindsey took a step forward, chest out. “That son-of-a-bitch locked me and twenty other people, most of whom hadn’t done a damn evil thing in their lives, in a room with Darla and Drusilla, hoping that they’d make snacks out of us. I was one of only two people to survive. How fuckin’ noble is that?”

Lindsey looked shocked as Spike sighed and fell back against the wall. “Sounds like my sire,” he said.

“Well, like I said,” Lindsey stepped backward, to the cot. “He’s a dick.” He sat down.

“I’m one hundred and twenty-four years old,” Spike said, “And I’ve never had a girlfriend didn’t date that bastard first. You understand?”

Lindsey smiled. “Angel and Harmony where an item? I find that hard to believe.”

Spike glared. “Except Harmony. Fine. And thanks for letting me know how much stalking you did on my life, not creepy at all that you know every little thing. Anyway, the exception proves the pathetic rule: I exist in that man’s shadow.” Spike pointed emphatically, as though he could pin Angel’s shadow to the wall. "And the worst part is, you made me think, for a fragile few months, that I had a destiny of my own. What an idiot I am,” he laughed, humorously, “After all these years it should have been bleedin’ obvious.”

“If I could go back…”

“Don’t lie to me, Doyle.” Spike winced, shook his head. “Lindsey. Don’t fucking lie.”

Lindsey tilted his head back. “All right. I played you. I did it to get to Angel. I’d probably do it again, if I could keep from fuckin’ the whole plan up like I did. But the sex wasn’t part of the plan. It wasn’t. And it wasn’t part of the plan to like you, to fall for you. But I’d do that over again, too.”

Spike’s face was angled down, his jaw tight. To the floor, he said, “Havin’ a real hard time believing anything that comes out of your mouth.”

“Then why are you here, Spike? To torture me? Because this?” He waved his hand between them, “Seeing you? Hurts worse than Angel’s fists.”

Spike looked up. His nostrils flared. “Don’t patronize me. I’m not some mooning romantic. You wanted to fuck. We fucked.”

“Oh! Like it was all one-sided.”

“It didn’t mean anything.”

Lindsey stood again, head titled to show, alarmingly, his bruised side. “If it meant nothing it wouldn’t hurt.” He lifted his chin just a little more, challenging. “And you’d have jack-shit to do with me.”

“Right. Which is why I’m leaving.” Spike strode to the door and knocked on it to summon the guard. “Don’t know why I bothered.”

Lindsey put his hand on Spike’s shoulder. Spike spun around, fist connecting without thought to the un-bruised side of Lindsey’s jaw.

Spike froze, staring at the bruised and battered face. Lindsey licked his lower lip. “Told ya you cared,” he said, and took a lazy step backward, hands at his sides, “The defense rests.”

“Fuck you, Lindsey. You’ll not be seeing me again.”

“Hey, I’m just here to help defeat the bad guys,” Lindsey said, looking smug through it all.

The door opened, catching Spike by surprise. He muttered an apology to the waiting guard and stepped past her into the corridor.

As the door shut, Lindsey smiled. “He’ll be back.” He sighed and gathered up his cards to start the game over.


	15. Boundaries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More CF! Thanks to Ash and her nagging. :P No real warnings this chappie.

Fred wasn’t in the lab. That smarmy kid – Knox – was there and said, cheerfully, that she’d gone home already. “Can’t work late every day,” he winked, holding up a Erlenmeyer flask like it was a cocktail.

Maybe it was.

Spike trudged back toward the offices. On a whim he swung by Lorne’s, only to find the green demon dashing out his door, cell phone – as always these days – pressed to his ear.

Lorne waved at him. “Busy, busy, busy butterfly – have a scotch and call me in the morning”. He paused, turning to tsk at Spike as though he’s just noticed something dreadful about his suit. “Hell, drink a distillery. You need it. We’ll talk, muffin – next Tuesday? Great.” This last was said with his back already turned, hurrying down the hall.

Spike looked toward the second-floor lobby. Not too far to Angel’s office. Hell, he was so bitterly aching for company at this point he’d almost give in and speak to the bastard.

Still, his footsteps were hesitant.

Harmony stood behind her desk, gathering things into her shoulder-bag in preparation to leave for the day.

“Hey, Harm.”

Harmony blinked up at him with her perpetual surprise. “Oh, Spike!” She straightened, adjusting the bag on her shoulder. “He’s up in the apartment. Do you want me to buzz up for you?”

“No!” Spike winced at the emotion in his voice. He held up his hands. “No. Put the buzzer down and walk away from it, Harm. I wanna know if you can get me into that guest suite for the night again?”

Harmony’s lower lip stuck out a little, her eyes big with sympathy. “Did you guys have a fight?”

“We _are_ a fight, Harm. You know that. Now just show me to my room, eh? I’m knackered.”

Harmony bit her lip, but nodded. She pressed a button on her phone. “Joe? Can we get a guest suite opened like, right now?”

There was a scratching sound and then the quick reply, “Sending an officer to Suite 2, Miss Kendell.”

“Thanks, You’re a doll!” Harmony smiled triumphantly. The power of one manicured finger. She gathered up her copy of Vogue and led Spike to the elevators. “Fifth floor, turn left, second corridor on your right, the room should be marked 502.”

“You’re a peach.”

“And I’m late. Oh, but I wanted to let you know that I’m totally okay with the you-and-Angel thing.” She held out a hand, pouting. “I hope we can still be friends. Oh!” She slipped her hand out of his grip just as he extended it. “But not too close, because Bossy? Mondo jealous type, and this job means more to me than our unresolved sexual tension. You understand, right?” She smiled hopefully.

“You’re a million in one, Harm,” Spike said, hiding the size of his grin by turning his head as he entered the elevator. “Night.”

***

Spike opened the suite door the next day to find Wes standing against the opposite wall pretending to read a book. Or maybe really reading – this was watcher-boy.

“Oh, Spike!” Wesley said with affected cheer, folding his tome under his arm. “Fancy, er, running into you here…”

Spike raised an eyebrow. “Outside the guest suite in a corridor you never have a reason to go down?”

“Oh bugger it, I can’t do this properly.” Wesley grimaced. “The long-suffering ties of friendship have me standing here like some pathetic go-between in a primary school romance.” He sighed, shaking his head as if he could shake off the last twenty seconds. “Angel wants to see you. To apologize. You might as well go up to him; he knows where you are and will no doubt enlist some other poor bastard to dog you.”

Spike put his hand on Wesley’s shoulder. “You’re a good friend, Percy.”

Wes nodded, and lead Spike back to the main corridor, but when Wesley stopped to press the button to call the elevator, Spike kept walking.

“Angel is in his office,” Wesley said.

“Which is why I’m avoiding that place. Going down to the lab to chat with Fred.” Spike held up his hand to wave and kept going, heading to the stairs at the west end of the building and the most expeditious route to the labs.

“You can’t say I haven’t done my part for Angel,” Wesley said, and, still shaking his head at the sophomoric nature of it all, headed back to his office.

Fred was doing her usual bustle-about, lab-coat flapping around her thin frame as she checked up on mysterious things and checked off items on her clip-board.

“Morning, Spike,” she said, offering him a smile in passing. “You want to get coffee in a few minutes? I’m ready for my second donut of the day.”

“I’m gonna miss your appetite,” he said, shaking his head. “Have to have some dimensional gateway in your gullet keeping the pounds off. Put some research into that, will you?”

Fred turned, frowning. “We aren’t talking about that again, are we? Spike, I thought you were happy now! Angel…”

“I’m bad for him.” Spike leaned his head back against the wall. “Havin’ me here… I thought I could keep him on the straight and narrow, but seems I’m the one shovin’ him off. Think it was the senior partners sent me here, love. They want me to keep him distracted.”

“That can’t be true!” Fred scowled and dropped her clip-board on a nearby lab bench. “Listen to me, young… er… old man! You are a champion! You help us! You keep me on my toes, at least, morality-wise, when the research is too exciting and I forget why I’m doing it, you come in here and remind me. So don’t sell yourself short.”

“I want to go back to England,” Spike said. “I made up my mind. Want to find Rupert and what’s left of the council. I could do some good there.”

Fred approached him, arms folded. “Are you sure?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I’ll leave at nightfall. Hitchhike if I have to.”

She put her hand on his arm. “You won’t have to.”

“Thanks, Fred. Think I’m a little beyond the ‘too proud to take charity’ point.”

She laid her head on his shoulder. “I feel like we only just got you back.”

He leaned into her hug. “It’s not like I can’t ever visit again, eh? What’s half the length of the world between friends?”

She pulled back, giggled, and wiped a tear from her cheek. “Look at us! A couple of sillies. Those donuts aren’t going to eat themselves.”

“Sure, love,” he said, stepping aside to let her lead the way out of the lab. “Hope they have those custard-filled ones with the chocolate on top.”

“Boston cream,” Fred said. “Everyone likes those. But my favorites are the sugar-dusted frycakes. My momma used to make those. You haven’t lived ‘til you’ve had them fresh from the fryer!”

“Well, once I shake Rupert down and get myself a real champion’s salary, I’ll have to come visit your mum and see.”

They walked down the corridor, Spike’s arm around Fred’s shoulders and hers around his waist, chatting pleasantly. Spike felt the tension he’d been carrying for two days finally ease.

They were turning down the corridor toward the commissary when he said, “It’s men. Men are pricks. Even Angel. Don’t know why I don’t stick with the soft, sweet side of the species, like you.”

“I think everyone thinks that once in a while, but in college, my roommate Tammy’s girlfriend was a total…”

She stopped, and Spike turned to see what she was staring at.

Some half-dozen of Wolfram and Hart’s faceless security thugs were ringing them. They had their wooden stake-tipped night sticks out.

“Mr. Spike, could you come with us?”

Fred gripped Spike’s arm hard as he shifted into a fighting stance. “Don’t.”

“What? Come on! These punks…”

“Are human. Don’t. Please. They’re just doing their job.”

Spike exhaled a sharp breath. He looked at Fred’s pleading, pretty face. He flexed his fists twice, then sighed and straightened. “Where are you taking me, pillocks?”

“Mr. Angel would like to speak to you.” The guard directly in front of them nudged his stick forward.

“What a big, fuckin’ surprise.”

***

Angel stood behind his desk, his fingertips resting lightly on its surface. Like a general reviewing troops, Spike thought, bitterly, as he filed in with the guards.

“I’m sorry to have to do it this way, Spike. But you wouldn’t come to me.”

“You might think that was because I don’t want to see you, Angel. We’re done. This freak show is over.”

Angel looked down at his fingers on the polished wood. “I heard what you said to Fred. You’re planning on going back to England, to Giles.”

Spike sprung forward, fists tight at his sides. The guards hastily surrounded him, pressing wood to his soft cotton t-shirt. “What is _wrong_ with you, Angelus? You’re spyin’ on Fred, now?”

“All I want to do is talk.”

“Then call off your guards, Angelus. Or are you afraid to be alone with me now I’m not injured and half drugged out of my mind?”

Angel glanced at the guards and nodded. They slipped from the room quietly and efficiently, like water passing around the still rocks that faced each other across the expansive office.

Spike was the first to move. He stepped back, toward the couch, and folded his arms. “Say your piece. And this had better be good.”

Looking again at the surface of his desk, Angel said, “I shouldn’t have brought my anger into the bedroom. You had already apologized and I – I didn’t let it go. I wasn’t a considerate lover.”

Spike gaped. “Considerate? You raped me.”

Angel grimaced. “Don’t say that, Spike.”

“Why not? True, isn’t it? Check your security cameras. Or do you want me to give you a replay? ‘No. No. Stop.’ Ring a bell, Angelus?”

“You let me.” Angel’s face was stony, barely-checked anger. “I did nothing you didn’t ask for. You told me you wanted to be fucked.”

“I suppose I wanted to be beaten down, too? Tell me, Angelus. Tell me all the things your victims really, really wanted. Dru would never have been happy as a nun, isn’t that right?”

Angel swung around his desk with quick steps. “I don’t know why I’m the one apologizing. Again. You slept with Lindsey. So yes, I got unreasonably angry. Possessive. If it were anyone else but that evil little shit!”

“A man you never told me about and I wouldn’t have known from Adam if you did, so stop blamin’ me for falling… falling victim to yet another of your stupid-arsed arch-enemies.”

“And what did you do, Spike? You went back to him!” Angel was in his face, now, straining forward. Both men had their fists back, clenched. “I saw the tape, Spike. I know what you did.”

“What I did? I went to have some closure with the arsehole. Did you see me smack him? Am I not allowed to hit other people now?”

Angel turned his head to the side, visibly restraining himself. Through grinding teeth, he managed to bite out the words, “Fine. I want you to stay. Please.”

“That’s funny because you seem to be doing all in your power to make me leave. Giles may have tried to kill me once or twice, but I know where I stand with him.”

Angel growled, jaw pressed forward. “You’re not to leave this building,” he said.

“Excuse me? That sounded like an order. Check your Rolodex, Cave-brow, I don’t work for you.”

“If you even attempt to leave, Spike, I can’t guarantee your safety. You’d do better to stay and wait until this tantrum of yours passes.”

Spike stepped back, shoulders relaxed. “See ya, Peaches. Be a stranger.”

As he headed to the door, Angel called out, “Security is watching you. They have orders to keep you inside the building.”

“My sympathies to your rent-a-cops. They can’t stop me.” Spike didn’t look back at Angel as he stormed out of the office.

***

Why did he find himself back here?

Spike looked at the bored duty officer behind his desk at the holding area. He had the form to request to see Lindsey already drawn up, attached to a clipboard. The pen had one of those ball-link chains. He tapped it over the words “Reason for Visit.”

“I am out of my fuckin’ mind” didn’t sound like an appropriate response.

It was daytime: bright and golden as always in California – not a cloud in the sky above the brown smear of smog. He’d found more guards than he cared to bother beating by the sewer-exit, and maybe, he felt, he should give them some time to stand down.

Fred was busy with some artifact – a stone sarcophagus some yahoo had shipped with no return address. She was acting all upset about it, but Spike knew she was happy as a kid with candy.

Gunn was in court.

Lorne was away.

Wesley’s office was too close to Angel’s.

So here he was.

“Killing time before my escape,” he wrote.

The duty officer raised his eyebrows, but still stamped the form. Spike wondered what the company gossip grapevine had to say about him, Angel, and Lindsey.

Lindsey was doing sit-ups. He smiled as Spike walked in, nodded at him like he was expected, and finished out his set of four or five more crunches. “Wew!” He said, laying back, chest bare, when he had finished. The tattoos were gone, flesh smooth and unmarked. Spike marveled at that. It made him feel like this was really a different person from Doyle – someone, really, that he hadn’t met.

“So what are you doing back here?” Lindsey stood and grabbed his shirt from off the bed. “Thought I wasn’t going to see you again, asshole that I am.” He shook the shirt out and ducked into it. He looked up again while flicking his collar down. “Strong, silent type today?”

Spike hooked the one chair in the room away from the wall with his boot. He threw himself into it, legs wide, hands in his lap. “Tell me what Angel did to you.”

Lindsey smirked. “Couple right hooks and a shove. I’ve had worse.”

“No. Before. What did Angel do that made you want revenge on him?”

Lindsey sat on the edge of the bed and paused to consider. He licked his bottom lip. “Anything I say will sound petty, won’t it? Can say he tried to kill me more than once. He cut my hand off. Cost me my job and my place in the world. I sound like a greedy bastard, don’t I?”

“Doesn’t sound worth it, no.”

“I wanted redemption.” Lindsey brought one leg up on the bed in front of him. He rested his elbow on his knee. “I did an awful lot I’m not proud of, to escape poverty, to reach the promised land. Here.” He flicked his eyes up. “Wolfram and Hart. Big time lawyer with an expense account and an apartment bigger than my daddy’s entire ranch.”

“My heart bleeds for you.”

“Yeah, well, it reached a point I couldn’t do it no more. I was sick of the evil, the corruption. I wanted out. I went to Angel for help. Funny thing, for a reformed vampire, he doesn’t seem to believe in redemption. I sacrificed my place here. I pissed off the senior partners. Angel left me to die. After I helped him. What kind of fuckin’ hero is that?”

Lindsey watched Spike’s expression as he talked. He seemed to be considering something. At last he looked up, and almost apologetically, said, “I can’t leave the building. Angel beat the shit out of me for havin’ fucked you and now he won’t let me leave.”

“What, he have the exits guarded or something?”

Spike nodded, looking down at his hands hanging loose in his lap. “He was always possessive, you know? Don’t think he was even interested in me that way until he learned someone else had a taste.”

“Come here.”

Spike frowned at Lindsey, who had scooted all the way back now, to lean against the wall behind the bed. He had his arms open. “Come on, city boy, don’t make me say something mushy to get your ass over here, it’ll embarrass us both.”

“You’re daft. Angel’s got cameras in here, you know that. Almost backhanded me just for coming to see you and _decking_ you.”

“So the fuck what. If Angel’s gonna be jealous anyway, let’s give him a reason to be jealous.”

Spike stared at him. “You really don’t fear anything, do you?”

“It’s my thing.” Lindsey shrugged. “You afraid of me? Got no lies left to tell.”

Cautiously, Spike moved to the bed. “Just want things to be simple again: good and evil. Good kicks evil’s arse. Repeat.”

He stiffened when Lindsey put his arm across his shoulders, but the man didn’t pause, he wrapped both his arms around Spike and drew him in to lean back against him. “It’s all grey areas, babe. But that’s all right.”

And then, Lindsey began to sing – something low and slow and soothing, about starry skies and longing. Spike felt his tension break, like brittle branches under the heavy, peaceful snow. Break by break, he relaxed into that embrace, and let the cowboy song soothe his broken heart.

“Lindsey,” he said, almost as if trying the name out for the first time.

The steady hum of the chest behind him stopped. “Hm?”

“That’s a good song. You should sing it.”

Lindsey’s chest rose with breath. He laughed. “Thanks. Think I will.” His hand rubbed up and down on Spike’s arm and he started over again.

Spike blinked back tears. He wasn’t ready to cry in front of this new person yet, but he let himself be held, and slowly fell asleep to the warm, beating heart.

In his office, Angel watched the security feed and felt his skin tighten, his skull ready to burst. He couldn’t move, and he couldn’t look away. Gently, over the speakers, Lindsey continued to sing.


	16. A Hole In The World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Non-con, violence, brutality, more Angel being a dick than ever before! Also: character death.
> 
> Really, no one should read this chapter.

Spike’s slumber was interrupted by the sound of a door crashing open. He raised his head off the warm, soft whatever he was on that smelled good and had a beating heartbeat. Hard hands grabbed him, he felt weightless, in the air, and hit a wall, hard. Still sorting his senses, unsure if this was a nightmare or reality, he blinked sleep from his eyes to see Lindsey pinned like an insect under Angel’s straight arm, flailing. Already a splatter of blood marred the clean white wall. Angel’s fist pulled back again.

“Angel! What the hell are you doing?”

His fist impacted Lindsey’s jaw, pulled back and struck again. Lindsey’s head sagged as he was obviously stunned by the blows.

“Guards,” Angel snarled, “Get him.”

Spike scrambled to his feet as three guards entered the small room, filling it. The slight scent of ozone accompanied them as they held tasers out toward him. “Don’t make this difficult,” one said, nodding at him.

Spike held his hands up. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Angel.”

Angel kept his eyes on Lindsey, holding him tight against the wall. “Take him into another holding cell.”

“You can’t do this. Has the hair gel eaten your brain? This isn’t your private fortress of dickitude, Angel, this is a business and you can’t just throw a bloke in a cell because you don’t like who he…!”

The guard who had spoken advanced with his taser and Spike had to jump out of the way. With a muttered apology to Fred and her feelings toward rent-a-cops, he punched the guard on his left and dove past him to the door.

Lindsey held still. He knew better than to challenge Angel’s superior strength. He concentrated only on keeping breath coming in to his lungs and watched, helpless, as Spike was tasered from behind, falling forward into the hallway.

He looked Angel in the eyes. “Proud of yourself, hero? You have to knock a guy out to keep him?”

Angel’s hard lips raised in a smirk. “I think, Lindsey, it’s time we started your interrogation.”

The guards quietly filed out of the room, one holding a hand over his bleeding nose where Spike had gotten him.

The door closed.

Lindsey closed his eyes. It was weird, feeling that hard hand around his throat, that forearm across his chest, and not hearing any breath or feeling a pulse pushing where their skin pressed so tight. Lindsey hated to admit it, but he got off on the wrongness of it. Softly, he said, “We both know this isn’t about the Senior Partners. I told you what I know.”

“Spike’s not very smart,” Angel said, “so I’m stepping in on his behalf. You aren’t going to use him to make your escape.”

“You really think I’m that big of a dick?”

Angel smirked. He shifted, letting off the pressure temporarily while he re-set his fists, comfortably gripping the worn flannel of Lindsey’s blue plaid shirt. “I think you’re a man who takes what he can. So tell me, counselor, what’s your real agenda here?”

Lindsey couldn’t help smiling. “If I had one, you think I’d tell you now?”

The slam back into the wall was expected, and he laughed at the predictability of it, though that just made Angel angrier – and if there was a redline for anger, Angel was already pressing it hard.

“Little shit,” Angel said, throwing him down on the bed. A large knee landed in his back.

Lindsey howled and twisted, getting sideways, trying to leverage, like wrestling his friends back home. He hooked one leg over Angel’s and got a half-nelson on the vampire, but Angel just pushed the hold apart, just broke him away like he was swatting flies.

“You’re nothing special, Lindsey,” Angel said, almost marveling as he methodically turned each of Lindsey’s attempted holds around and pinned him to the mattress. “You have no special skills, no special training.”

“You forget my Juris Doctor,” Lindsey smiled, but it quickly became a grimace as he fought against Angel getting a hold on his left wrist.

“That’s what really gets me,” Angel said. “You’re pathetic. You shouldn’t even be playing at this level. Challenging the senior partners? You should be challenging the local law enforcement in whatever podunk town you come from.”  
“Nah, I think what’s really got you,” he grunted, “is that he likes me better. And he always will.”

Angel froze, just a second, and a sound came up from deep in his chest – a growl, like a big cat. Lindsey rolled his head back and lifted his chest into the vibration.

Again, Angel froze. He pulled back. “You’re getting off on this!”

“Come on, Angel. You’re surprised? Would have thought you’d figure out by now I have a thing for vampires.” Lindsey licked his lower lip. “Gonna give it to me good, hero?”

Angel pushed Lindsey hard into the mattress, the springs groaned in response. His face scant centimeters above his, he growled, “You disgust me.”

“Yeah, can feel how disgusted you are,” Lindsey lifted his hips against Angel’s. “Now, I usually prefer blondes, but as long as you’re there…”

And that, Lindsey later realized, was the point at which he should have backed down.

The air left his lungs as he was flipped, and the sound of ripping fabric filled the air. It was so strangely distant he wondered what was ripping, but then he felt the vampire’s cool hand on his naked backside.

“Is this what you want, Lindsey?”

“Fuck! No! You psycho…”

There was a second ripping sound, which Lindsey at first thought must be his boxers, except, no, he’d already felt bare flesh.

“Let’s get you started.”

The burn came to life slowly, and he felt blood creeping down the curve of his ass. He struggled to see, and the slight motion awakened pain in a raged stripe down his cheeks.

He started to say something, to make some argument to stop the monster behind him, but then Angel was leaning forward, crushing him, and ripping him apart from the inside. His words melted into screams.

Angel slowed his assault. His thick hands wrapped around Lindsey’s shoulders and drew his head up from the bed. “I’m not going to let you lose consciousness,” he said. “And you’ll wear the marks of this night for the rest of your life. Think about that, Lindsey, the next time you defy me or touch what’s mine.”  
  
***

Regrettably, Lindsey did eventually lose consciousness. Angel stood over his broken body, shaking a little as he came down from the fight. He was disgusted with himself. Once upon a time, he would never have let a victim slip into unconscious after only an hour.

And then he was disgusted all anew, having thought that, having used the word “victim”. Lindsey was not a victim. He was a villain. Angelus had victims, not Angel. Never Angel.

He was still Angel, wasn’t he?

He rubbed his forehead and looked to the door of the holding cell with its tiny window. Cameras. Guards. There was no hiding from what he’d done.

He straightened his clothing and wiped the blood from his hands on the back of Lindsey’s rumpled shirt.

He knocked on the door and saw there was still blood in his fingernails. He chewed them as the guard came and unlocked the door.

“We’ve tagged the surveillance video on this cell for the past two hours top secret, sir. Mr. Spike is awake in his cell. He’s asking for you. Would you like to see him?”

Angel blinked, dizzied, as always, by the efficiency of Wolfram and Hart. In some ways, magic had nothing on a good corporate culture. He nodded, dumbly, and was led to the other side of the corridor – he’d asked that Spike and Lindsey be kept as far apart as possible. Which was probably unnecessary. With the sound-proof cells, they could be right next to each other.

Through the little window, Spike was seen, a blur of black and white, pacing. When his face could be seen, it was contorted in a silent stream of invective. No doubt, “asking for you” was a euphemism for “screaming bloody murder and your name.”

Angel was about to say, “Wait, I’m not ready to face him,” but the door was already opened, and Spike had stopped his pacing, and was glaring right at Angel.

“Let me out of here, right now, Peaches, or I’ll never speak to you again.”

Angel couldn’t help the rebuttal, it was almost instinct: “Wow, promise?”

“Fuck off. It should say something to you, Angel, that I’d rather have his company right now. Anyone is fucking better than you.”

Angel _had_ planned on apologizing. Again. That made him even angrier. He grabbed hold of Spike’s arm. Spike broke his hold and smacked him away. So he grabbed again. That hold was broken. But he backed Spike toward the wall, crowded him. “Take a good, hard whiff, Spike. What do you smell? Is it Lindsey? Now ask yourself just how special you are to him.”

Spike’s face blanked. “I smell blood.”

“Lindsey likes it rough.” Angel smiled.

“Funny thing, that.” Spike pushed Angel away angrily. “Seems every bloke you shag likes it rough. Eventually.”

“He’ll fuck anything with fangs, Spike. You were just convenient. And now he’s being nice to you, because it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that a touch of kindness turns you into an idiot. He wanted you to help him escape, that’s all. I can’t believe you’re so stupid I have to explain this to you.”

Angel tried not to enjoy the conflicted hurt and anger that rippled so visibly across Spike’s face while the younger vampire struggled to respond.

A polite knock interrupted them. “Sir, Miss Kendell has been trying to reach you – something urgent, she says, to do with Miss Burkle?”

Angel frowned. “Fred wants me?”

“She says it’s a matter of life or death. Mr. Wyndham-Price has been calling for you as well.”

Angel walked out of the cell without a backward glance to Spike, still standing there as though struck.

Spike awoke from his shock quick enough to stick his foot in the door-frame before the guard could close the door. “C’mon, mate, this here’s a lover’s spat, is all. Boss man doesn’t want me running off, fine piece of ass that I am, but he didn’t really mean to lock me up.”

He turned what he hoped was his best, most charming smile on the guard, and thanked whatever powers gave a rat’s tit about him for making this guard a girl.

She didn’t blush, however, or look away coyly as he leered at her. “I’m sorry,” she said, “Mr. Angel’s orders were clear. Step away, sir, or I’ll have to shock you.”

Spike held up his hands and stepped back. The door swung shut. “Just my luck the quality of evil minions goes up soon as I’m on the other side,” he grumbled.

He’d smelled blood, and sex, and that sharp, electric tang that was only caused by Angel in full-throttle anger. Lindsey could be dead. Something was up with Fred. Angel was slipping ever more quickly down the slope to hell.

And he was trapped in a holding cell. Alone.

He clutched his arms tight and resumed his pacing.

***

The door hit him, swinging open while he was passing it. Spike sprawled against the wall and blinked in shock as Lindsey flew through the air, hitting the back wall of his holding cell and then landing, crumpled, on the bed. Blood streaked his hair and his shirt and jeans were ripped into shreds.

Angel walked in, almost casually. He turned and punched Spike in the face before continuing to the bed and picking Lindsey up.

“Jesus Fuck! Angel! What the hell?”

“I wanted you to see this, Spike. See what a great guy Lindsey is. Something is wrong with Fred,” Angel said. He picked Lindsey up by his throat and shook him. “What did you do to her? Answer me, you son of a bitch, or you’ll wish…”

Angel apparently could not come up with just what was bad enough for Lindsey to wish for rather than the revenge he had planed. He tossed Lindsey like a rag-doll, he hit the wall near the door – near Spike, his arm flinging helplessly out to strike Spike in the chest.

Spike scrambled to his feet just in time to intercept Angel’s fist, grabbing his arm and holding him off. “Now wait just a fuckin’ moment! What’s happened to Fred?”

Angel’s eyes were narrowed, accusing. “She’s DYING. And this little shit had something to do with it.”

“No,” Spike stepped in front of Angel, over Lindsey’s sprawled legs. “I don’t believe it.”

“Get out of my way, Spike. I’ll happily go through you.”

“Think for a minute! Lindsey’s been in a holding cell! Before that he was in a hell dimension! When did he have time to plan anything against Fred?”

“It isn’t about Fred. It’s about me. Like it always is. And that makes it that much worse.”

Lindsey coughed and spat a wad of bloody phlegm. He crawled up the wall. “Got nothing against Fred,” he said. “Wouldn’t hurt a hair on her head.”

“Bull,” Angel said, he wrenched his fist away from Spike. “Are you this stupid, Spike? Are you choosing him over Fred?”

Spike heard Lindsey’s labored breathing behind him, and the pounding of his heart, almost drowning out all other sound in the room. Angel was near to beating him to death. “We need to work together,” Spike said, holding out his hands, ready to hold Angel off if he struck. “Angel… me and you… we need to be together on this. For Fred’s sake.”

Angel was shaking his head, but it was hanging low, like a tired bull. His anger was fading to uncertainty. He looked at his blood-stained hands. “She’s dying. There has to be something, someone I can hit. Something I can do to stop this.”

“Fred means more to me, and more to you, than the shitty rest of this entire building,” Spike said. “You’ve been mad. I get that. I caused that. And I’m sorry, Angel. Sorry to even be here to distract you. But right now, we stop being distracted. For Fred. Me and you, we’re leaving this cell, and we’re going, together, to find out what we can do, and who is causing this. For Fred.”

Slowly, Angel nodded, he knocked on the door to call the guard. “Stay with me,” he said. “Just… stay with me until we find who is doing this.”

“Course I will, Angel. Want a piece of the bastard myself. He won’t know what hit him with both of us throwing a party in his intestines.”

Angel’s hand closed perhaps a little too tightly on Spike’s wrist.

Spike felt like he had a wild beast, temporarily calmed, on a very short tether.

“For Fred,” Angel said, like a mantra.

The stepped out into the hallway, leaving a broken, battered Lindsey where he lay.

***

For a while, it had felt like one of their old adventures. No mention was made of poor, sorry Lindsey and Angel didn't behave like a possessive git. He looked at Spike only as a partner in this quest. And it was a quest. They were going to save Fred. Almost all the way until the very end, Spike believed it. They are going to save her. Together.

Time ran out. They sat, silent, together on the high-speed jet taking them back to LA. Winifred Burkle could be dead, already, by the time they landed.

Angel brooded. And for what? To save thousands who would die if Illyria’s soul were dragged through the earth back to the deeper well. The good of the many – the many innocents – had to take priority over one.

Angel smashed the tiny Jamieson’s bottle against his arm rest. “Right from wrong. I’m supposed to know right from wrong. And saving Fred is wrong. It would be selfish it would be…”

Spike crossed the tiny space and put his hands on Angel’s shoulders. “Soul’s a bitch,” he said.

Angel reached up to grasp those hands, desperately, it was meant to just be an affectionate pat. “It’s doing good. Every time I try to do good, I fail. I fail. Am I only good at being evil? Is… am I really smarter without the soul?” Tears slipped down his nose. “Wesley said that once. Think it was him. I… I should have been quicker. Smarter. I should have seen this coming… should have watched all deliveries for suspicious cargo.”

“Should have locked poor Fred in a holding cell? Because you know that’s the only way you could keep science girl away from all that interesting, interesting danger.” Spike leaned over Angel’s seat, letting his arms wrap loosely around Angel’s shoulders. He kissed his ear. “Know how you feel. But you did do all you could. We… there was nothing we could have done.”

Spike let Angel drag him slowly around the chair-back and into his lap. Each movement of Angel’s hands was fast, and each grab hard, as though he were afraid Spike would be snatched away from him at any moment. “Don’t… don’t leave me,” Angel asked, face pressed into Spike’s neck. “Please… please Spike, not now. Don’t leave me now.”

“I won’t,” Spike said, and kissed him again, on the back of his head.

Together, in their grief, they fell silent, clinging to each other for reassurance as the plane made its too-slow passage through the air.


	17. Shells

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Very little smut this chapter - the boys are all getting over Fred's passing. But Angel is still a dick, never fear!

Angel and Spike said very little as they entered the building. Angel asked for reports on Fred and was sent to Gunn’s office. Spike followed silently.

Gunn looked like he hadn’t slept in a week. His desk was covered in papers and his shirt collar was undone.

Angel asked, “Any news?”

Spike was proud of how calm Angel sounded.

Gunn shook his head. “She’s with Wes. She wanted to be home. If… he’ll call me if anything happens.”

Gunn stared at his phone like he feared it would ring any minute.

“How long has it been since the last update?”

“Since before you called from the Deeper Well, man.”

“Call him.”

Gunn shook his head. “I don’t think we should interrupt. It could be…”

“Call him, Gunn. Now.”

***

Wesley watched the strange, insect-like movements of the not-Fred walking through Fred’s apartment. She seemed to pay especial attention to the miniature rubber tree Fred kept in the sunniest corner of the sitting room. This creature was nothing like her, nothing at all.

There was no body.

If there was no body, Fred was not dead. There was no body, and if there was no body…

Wesley didn’t believe himself. Must need more liquor.

Sometimes the phone rang, and Illyria would stand over it, staring imperiously until it stopped. Then she would go back to the rubber tree.

Wesley had finished off the Bowmore 21 year that he’d been only miserly enjoying over the past year. The Balvenie 15 followed in close succession. Then he was left with a simply awful blended scotch that had been given as a gift – Loch Wastebin or something – and a Californian sparkling white whine left over from New Year’s Eve. He drank half of the wine and then ran to the bathroom to empty the contents of his stomach into the toilet.

He then drank the Loch Wastebin. Best not to mix wine and liquor, really.

Now he was on the 100-year-old Grand Marnier, which had been a gift from his mother and which he had never intended to actually drink, expecting it to have soured into vinegar after so many years. But it hadn’t; it was as sweet and fresh as the tiniest, darkest tangerines, and he was sure he’d enjoy it far more sober, if he would ever be sober again – he hoped not. The hand-lettered label was wearing off under his sweating palm, and there were bits of cork and wax stuck in the neck from his less-than-skillful removal of the cork.

The phone was ringing again. Illyria stood in front of him, legs wide, arms at her side like a doll still in its packaging. “Does this signal warn of imminent danger? I must know its significance; it continually sounds and I grow weary of it.”

Wesley stared at the bottle in his hand. It was all he looked at, when Illyria spoke. “It is a communication device. The sound indicates someone wishes to communicate with me.”

“You do not wish to receive any communication?”

“No,” Wesley said, and raised the bottle once more to his lips, closing his eyes and trying to imagine Fred eating oranges in the summer time.

***

Gunn did not expect the phone to be picked up, after so many tries; his eyes were on his papers, trying to read them, but all the words seemed meaningless.

So it was a shock, when suddenly the ringing ended and there was silence. “Hello? Wes?” Silence. “Wes? Wesley, it’s Gunn. Talk to me, man. Just say the words.”

Slightly off-mic, a strange female voice said, “It is one called Gunn who wishes to communicate with you.”

“Who is this?”

A little louder, he heard her voice – oddly resonant, but definitely female. “I am Illyria, God-King of the Primordium. My coming was foretold. All will fear me.”

“Uh… okay. Is Wesley there?”

“He is.”

Gunn realized he was fiddling with his pen and put it down. “What is he doing?”

“The one called Wesley has ceased to move from his chair next to the liquor cabinet. However, he is almost out of bottles and so I expect some other behavior presently.”

“Is… is there one named Fred there?”

“You speak of the shell. She has been exterminated to make room for me.”

Gunn dropped the phone and made a broken, wheezing sound, like air was passing through bullet holes instead of his chest. He covered his face and let himself cry, now that it was final.

Then he had to tell everyone else.

***

They tried. They really tried. Spike pointed out that as final a death as burning in a column of flame was to a vampire, he was still around and annoying, so they pulled up their courage, redoubled their efforts, and tried to find a way to get Fred back.

It was worse than if they could have just given up.

It was worse having seen Illyria – having her strange presence mimicking Fred’s shape. Every once in a while, out of the corner of an eye, she ripped your guts out.

Spike, exhausted, followed Angel up to his penthouse to share a glass of scotch.

He stared at the door to “his room”. It had only been a matter of days since he was last up here. Since the whole mess with Lindsey came to a head. Life was so fuckin’ long – but the days were short.

Spike looked over at Angel, who was staring at his untouched whiskey. “Do we know what happened to Lindsey?”

Angel looked at him like he had suddenly brought up hula skirts or the cha-cha.

“He wasn’t too far from death’s door when we left for England. That was, what, three days ago?” Spike blinked, did the math in his head. “Christ, we been going at this three days. No wonder Wes looks like shit.” He drained his glass.

“Lindsey’s fine,” Angel said, without emotion.

“Good. Not, uh, not that I care, of course.”

Angel continued to stare at the glass hanging from his fingertips.

Spike set his own glass down and crossed to sit next to Angel on the couch. “Talk, Angel. Please. The silent treatment is driving me batty.”

“I’m quiet, when I’m sad.”

“Well, I’m not. Suppose you know that.”

Angel set down his untouched glass. “You do the talking then, Spike. I’ll listen.”

Spike frowned. He shifted on the couch, bringing one leg up. He picked up Angel’s whiskey. “Well, shit. Now I’ve got nothing to say.”

Angel’s heavy sigh filled the room.

Spike knocked back the double-shot of whiskey and then stepped over, into Angel’s lap. “Time for the life-affirming shag,” he said.

Angel blinked, confused. Spike nodded. “C’mon, you big ape, you read Cosmo, I know you do.” He leaned down and, slowly, deliberately, pressed his lips to Angel’s. “We’re still here.”

Angel’s hands stirred from their place on the armrests, reaching forward to rest lightly on Spike’s thighs. “We’re still here.” He leaned forward and kissed Spike, his mouth slightly parted, his motions unsure.

Spike’s heart melted. Stupid old hurting git, he thought, affectionately. He crawled back off Angel’s lap and the old git’s hands and lips followed him, hesitantly, a soft whine coming from his throat as he thought he was about to lose that lap full of vampire.

Spike drew him up and pushed him toward the bedroom. “Strip, Angel. It’s beddy time at fuckin’ last.”

Angel did as asked, stumbling over his shoes as he kicked them off and tossing his shirt aside. He’d been wearing it so long it was stiff, falling like folded paper.

Spike came up behind him, smoothing over his undershirt and then grabbing the hem and urging it up. Angel raised his arms and let himself be undressed.

And then he was on the bed, Spike straddling his thighs and rubbing hard and oh so painful and RIGHT into his shoulders and along his spine, awakening aches and complaints he’d forgotten he had.

Angel groaned and felt himself turning into putty, into liquid. There was no more energy to grieve. No more energy to think. He just was.

Grateful he rolled onto his back, Spike laughing as he managed to widen his stance and just barely stay upright over him. Angel reached up, ran his hands over those corded arms, and pulled Spike down against him. He needed to touch, to feel touch all over his body. “I love you,” he said.

“You’re supposed to be drunk before you say that, git.”

“No. I really, really do, Spike. I love you so much it hurts. Never leave me. Please… I couldn’t bear it.”  
  
Spike tactfully kissed the lug, lest he say something he would regret in the morning, and let his fingers answer for him, reaching down to grope the front of Angel’s trousers. His cock twitched and thickened.

“Spike!” Angel bucked up against him. “Need you.”

“Yeah, Peaches. I’m right here. Let’s do this good and slow and long, yeah? We both need it.”

And so they did. Many kisses and gropes and groans before Spike disentangled himself to reach for the bedside table and the lube, only to have Angel’s thick arms suddenly wrap around his waist and pull him into a bear hug, which had to be met with kisses and affection and murmured reassurances before he could get back to the lube.

***

Spike woke first, this time, and sighed, realizing where he was, who the big, heavy lump next to him was. Why did he always fall back into bed with people who were no good for him? He looked at Angel’s sleeping face, so surprisingly boyish when all the cares were relaxed off of it. Sweet, even. This was the time, when Angel slept, that Spike really believed those words about him having the face of an angel.

Bollocks. He’d be writing poetry next.

Angel awoke to the smell of cigarette smoke and a fully-clothed Spike pacing the foot of his bed. He turned and blinked at the alarm-clock. He still had fifteen minutes before he _really_ had to get up, and in a post-Fred world, did it matter? “Spike? Come back to bed?”

“Can’t,” Spike said, short and terse. He flicked ash randomly at the floor and continued his pacing. “It’s like this, Angel: you had me locked in a fuckin’ cell. What you did to the cowboy, well, I can’t excuse it, but I know how you are with folks you deem your enemy. Like that Guirmo What-the-fucks back in, what was it? 1886? We spent that whole winter following your damn revenge through the shittiest hotels in Europe.”

Angel sat up. “What? We’re talking about Guerimo Wal-de-fuchs? I dusted him in 1887. You were there.”

“No. I’m not talkin’ about him; I’m talking about you. The way you get, your possessiveness, and this way you have of going completely batshit and _I’m_ the one always ends up hurt, Angel. I can’t do this, you understand? Not here, not while you have all the power. You have money, you have resources… I’ll fight for you. I’ll stay and be a champion because Fred gave her life for your cause. Least I can do is offer the rest of mine. But I can’t be your boyfriend. Not if you can lock me in a cage.” He stopped pacing, at last, and looked straight at Angel, arms crossed, his smoking cigarette held against his elbow.

Angel slipped out of bed. Naked, he walked up to Spike. “Is that how you really feel?”

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Yeah, I hear a lot of that, lately.”

Angel sighed. He walked, still naked, into the sitting room and poked through his decanters looking for one that was still mostly full. Spike had to smile at his backside, bent over, all plump and round and vulnerable, surrounded by the slick grey and black executive’s furnishings.

Spike was losing his anger. Hell, he’d been having trouble hanging on to it all morning. He had to think of Lindsey, though. That man had been reduced to ground meat, and he was human. Angel didn’t have the qualms about hurting vampires that he supposedly had concerning humans. Spike had to remind himself of that while Angel spilled a little whiskey on his thigh and did a little dance to shake it off.

Spike was smiling uncontrollably by the time Angel turned; drink in hand, his brow lowered, ready for a serious discussion.

“Look, Spike, since the moment you showed up here, in a swirling vortex of fire that built you from the inside out…”

“Is that what it was?”

“Uh, yeah. Built you up from ash-flakes to bones to skin and you were screaming.”

“Did it look cool?”

“Beat out two out of three apocalypses and dimensional gateways. Gunn said it was better than Star Wars.”

Angel gave Spike a moment to preen. “I always did know how to make an entrance.”

“The thing of it is, Spike, since that very moment to now, you’ve been in the process of leaving me, or getting killed, or disappearing. Literally every moment. Is it any wonder I cling? Even now, I have no idea where I stand with you. If you walk out that door, will you be back? I’ve told all my friends you’re my boyfriend now, but really, I don’t believe it. I’m not sure you won’t leave at any moment.”

Spike shrugged. “Not so sure, myself.”

“But don’t you get it? If I wasn’t so afraid, so constantly afraid of losing you, I would never have done those terrible things. Spike, you’re killing me, heart and mind. All I want is to make you happy enough that you’ll stay, but every time I touch you it feels like I’ve pushed you away.”

“Think I know how that feels,” Spike said, quietly, with a slight grimace.

Then he made the mistake of looking up. It was hard to take the impassioned plea while Angel’s bare privates shook a little with his emphatic gesturing. Spike covered his mouth. “So what you’re sayin’ is: if I would just promise to always come back, you’d stop bein’ a git?”

“Give me some security, Spike. Please. That’s all I’m asking.”

“I don’t know if I have any to give.”

Angel advanced on him, slowly, like he was an easily-startled cat. “You’ll be your own vamp. You won’t work for Wolfram and Hart. You’ll come and go as you want and work on whatever cases you want. But I don’t want you here, as a part of my team, if you aren’t here, as a part of me. I couldn’t bear it, to have you so close and not have you. I already lived with that three months while you were incorporeal.”

Spike plucked the whiskey glass from Angel’s fingers, since it was in easy reach. “You proposing marriage, or what? Not sure how California law feels about same-sex undead partnerships.”

“I’ll ask Gunn,” Angel said. “Please, Spike, just say you’ll stay with me, that you won’t leave without warning, and I swear I’ll be a better boyfriend.”

The combination of that earnest face, that bare chest, and the absurdity of a centuries-old vampire calling himself a “boyfriend” just got to Spike. He leaned forward, laughing, wrapping the arm still holding Angel’s whiskey around one meaty shoulder. “Yes, Peaches, I will be your boyfriend. Consider this your second chance. Don’t fuck it up.”

***

Lindsey lay in a secure bed in the Wolfram and Hart medical wing. Angel stood a moment and marveled – how much damage just a simple beating could do. There was so much gauze, and Lindsey’s left arm was in a cast, permanently crooked and braced out from his body with a little support pole.

The room smelled of blood soaked into clean cotton, hot flesh, sweat, and disinfectant.

Angel had to admit, hospitals always did it for him.

Now was not the time to be distracted, though. He clasped his hands behind his back, willed his erection down, and walked into the room. “Hello, Lindsey.”

Lindsey McDonald struggled to turn and look at him. “Shit, don’t tell me you’ve come to apologize?”

“Not so much.”

“Good. Finish the job, will ya? This hurts.”

Angel politely walked up to the right side of the bed where he could most easily be seen by the very bound-up patient. (And that was a turn-on as well.) “No, Lindsey, I’m not here to kill you, either, though that might be arranged shortly, depending on how you answer me.”

“Had nothing to do with Fred’s death. You know that now. Heard all about it from the nurses.”

Angel’s mouth tightened into a thin line and he had to look away for a moment. “I’m here to talk about Spike. He might get it in his head to visit you.”

“Tell him not to – that’ll get him down here sooner.”

“I’m aware of how willful he is. That’s why I’m coming to you. You have a few brain cells in that head of yours. When Spike comes to see you, tell him you were only pretending to be interested in him in hopes of organizing an escape.”

Lindsey lifted his chin. “I have nothing to lose, Angel. Why the hell would I do that?”

“You have plenty to lose. Don’t make me prove it to you.”

His right hand flexed in its restraint against the bed-rail. “I’m tied in here. I got a catheter up my dick filling a bag with piss and another bag filling me with cold water. Go ahead, end my fabulous life.”

Angel looked up at the ceiling. “I could end Eve’s life.”

“What? She’s nothing. Nothing to me, Angel. Just a girl.”

Angel leaned down. “Your heart rate speeds up when you lie. Might want to look into that, counselor.”

Lindsey’s eyes sparked fire, and the bed frame shook. “Asshole. You can’t threaten to kill someone every time you want something from me. I only have one life, so you take it or you fuckin’ leave it, but I’m not playing that little hero game. As you’ve pointed out, I’m no hero.”

“And what about Spike?”

“You wouldn’t hurt him. You do that and he’ll see what an asshole you really are.”

“You really don’t know Spike,” Angel smiled. “I can take everything you have or want away from you, Lindsey. Or I can give you everything. Freedom, redemption – a place on the team. Hell, you can have your old corner office back – Wes hasn’t been coming to work much lately. And I’ll protect you and yours from the powers that be. Or you can be a martyr. Your choice.”

Lindsey’s head fell back against his pillow. “Well, obviously, I choose option A, boss.”

Angel smiled without humor. “Like I said; you’re a smart man. Don’t forget the cameras this time, Lindsey.” He patted the rigid cast on Lindsey’s elbow on his way out.


	18. Early Days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Totally consensual happy Spangel luvin's this chapter. Angel pretends he isn't a dick!
> 
> I know, I know, cope, dick-fans! He'll be back. ;)

Spike met Lorne, as promised, for a little quiet “consultation with alcohol.”

“Phone turned off?” Spike asked suspiciously as he sat on Lorne’s colorful lounger.

“My assistant has it,” Lorne waved away the concern. “We are mano a mano, sugarlump. No distractions, three kinds of tequila, and two hours completely cleared on the agenda.”

“Two hours off the clock? Never thought I’d see it.”

Lorne shrugged and sipped his pink-tinted drink. “It’s not easy, keeping the entertainment division of Wolfram and Hart profitable without being evil. The after-school specials alone! Did you know some people think alcohol is BAD?”

Spike propped his elbows on his knees. “Lorne, you don’t have to pretend everything is all right. It isn’t. Life fuckin’ sucks without Fred in it.”

Lorne’s smile faltered. “Hey now, blondie-bear, I’m supposed to be the one with the psychic powers.” He grimaced into his glass. “Look, I asked you here because last week, you were hurting. I saw it in passing, but I let it slide, thinking there would always be time later. But there isn’t, is there? And right now?” He looked up, eyes clear, red, and intent, “I very much want to talk about last week.”

“Wasn’t anything important.”

“Good.” Lorne leaned forward. “Great. I want unimportant now, Spike. I want someone else’s problems and so help me, I’m not too proud to beg.”

Spike smiled, then, for the first time. He looked down at the effeminate drink Lorne had handed to him, which he didn’t want to drink for fear he’d like it. “Angel flipped his trolly. He found out Lindsey and I had been more than just roomies, you see.”

“I see.” Lorne touched his cheek. “Gossip like this happens and no one thinks to tell the green guy!”

“Well, it wasn’t a very pretty story. Shit happened, which most parties involved in would rather hadn’t. Angel hurt me. Then he took it out on the cowboy.”

Lorne sighed. “Lindsey’s a handsome little slice of moral ambiguity. I never understood why Angel reacted so negatively to him. And have you heard the boy sing? He’s a threat to chastity worldwide. I’d sign him if I thought I could get away with it.”

It was good to see Lorne warming to his subject. Spike almost blushed. “Yeah. I heard him sing. So did Peaches, though, that’s the problem.”

“Oh. Oh no! You haven’t, have you?” Lorne raised an expectant eyebrow. “Dipping in to the holding cell stock?”

“We talked, that’s all. And, yeah, he offered me a warm shoulder to lean on when Angel’d been a right bastard to me. That’s the thing though: seems like all I do is make Angel jealous or drive him mad with insecurity. Get this: he said that since the moment I arrived, all I’ve done is threaten to leave. That’s how I look, from his point of view!”

“Well, apple-blossom, you did talk quite a bit about going away, and Angel-cakes has had his share of loss lately. He has to have the separation anxiety of a week-old kitten at this point. I know I do.”

“Well, maybe he has a point.” Spike sipped the fruit-and-vodka confection with a grimace. “Don’t let him hear I said so.”

Lorne leaned one elbow on the back of his chair. “And what about everyone’s least-favorite urban cowboy? Are there feelings there?”

Spike smirked. “I just got through reassuring his poufiness I wasn’t going to pull a runner. I’m keeping well clear of Mr. Lindsey McDonald, ta very much.” Spike knocked back the rest of his drink, which, he had to admit, was tasty. “Uh… you haven’t heard how he’s doing?”

Lorne shook his head. “How are _you_ doing?”

“Getting by. Same as you. Angel’s bein’ real sweet. He…”

A bright series of notes played from Spike’s hip pocket. “Sorry, Lorne, my turn to be rude. Just a sec?” He drew the cell phone out. “Heya, Peaches. No, I’m just down the hall. Talking with Lorne. No, just shooting shit. Yes. No, my plans haven’t changed in the last hour. No. Yes. See you then. Love you too, you big girl’s blouse.”

Spike closed the phone and shrugged.

Lorne frowned. “Was that ‘Copa Cabana’?”

“If I’d known the pouf would be calling so often, I’d have set it to something _I_ like. Might do that later on.” He tucked the phone back in his pocket. “Sorry, Greenjeans. Turn about is fair, though. I’m surprised your right ear hasn’t been mashed into the shape of a cell phone. Anyway, what were we talking about?”

“How you and Angel are doing.”

“It’s great. Really. Angel’s biting holes in his tongue, I can tell, but he’s letting me do my thing, you know. Just wish there was more of ‘my thing’ to do. The gang’s a mess, Lorne. Wes has left the building. You realize that, don’t you? He’s a shell.”

“We can’t work through his grief for him. It’s going to take time, Crème Brule. Lots of time.”

Spike leaned forward, fingertips touching. “Lorne? Why do you call everyone desserts?”

Lorne cracked his first genuine smile of the week. “Because you’re all so sweet,” he chided, and sipped his beverage.

“Well, knowing that Pylean demons eat people, it’s kind of disturbing.”

Lorne smirked. “Haven’t eaten a human since puberty. Spike, really! Do I bring up your all-liquid diet?”

“I eat regular food, sometimes.” Spike got up to refill his glass.

“And so do I – all the time. I admit, though, the desserts thing, well, it might have started out as an inside joke with myself vis-à-vis human edibility.” Lorne pointed at Spike with one finger of the hand holding his glass. “That stays in this room.”

Spike held up both hands. “Absolutely. Sanctuary here, right?”

Lorne sighed heavily. “How I miss my sanctuary,” he said, looking into his glass as though he could see Caritas reflected in it.

Spike settled back in his seat with a decidedly less-pink beverage. “Want to go see Charlie, see how he’s doing, but I’m avoiding the medical wing. Have you been to see him?”

Lorne frowned. “Yes. Sang him some of my best of Sondheim just to cheer him up a little. I got a smile by the end. ‘Broadway Baby’ never fails.”

The cheery beat of “Copa Cabana” started playing from Spike’s pocket again. He sighed and looked apologetically at Lorne. “What is it, luv? Oh.” He laughed. “That’s sweet. Yeah. Yeah. Look, I can’t miss you if you keep calling, can I? See you in two hours, all right? Yes.” Spike paused, listening, then raised an eyebrow and lowered his voice. “If you’re a good boy,” he said. “Mm-hmm. Bye.” He folded the phone and rolled his eyes, smiling. His smile faded as he saw the intent look on Lorne’s face. “What?”

The demon tapped his lips twice with one finger before asking, “How often does he phone you?”

“It’s early days, Lorne. Besides, I think he’s still tickled pink to have figured out the phone, bless his technology-resistant skull.”

“So is that an ‘every twenty minutes’ avoiding the question, or more?”

“I told you, it’s early days. Trying not to give the kitten-vamp separation anxiety. He’ll get bored with phone-tag soon enough.”

“So, more.”

Spike gave Lorne a look that said it wasn’t that big a deal and Lorne raised his eyebrow. Spike sighed. “Thanks for the booze, Kermit, but I did promise Peaches I’d swing by early for our lunch date.”

“But it’s not even ten!”

“Yeah, and believe me, if I want to eat by noon, now’s the time to start.”

“He talked you into that, did he? Is that what was with the sexy voice? Come on, kitten, spill.”

Spike ducked his head. “A gentleman never tells,” he said, and rose to his feet. “And call me ‘kitten’ again and our friendship is off.”

“Sure thing, kitten.”

Lorne met Spike’s glower with unconcern, and the vampire sighed. “Only you, Greenjeans, only you can get away with that.” Spike slipped out the door before Lorne could object.

***

Angel was playing with his pen against the edge of his desk – tapping out some silly, peppy song, no doubt, maybe some Brat Pack garbage. Spike smiled fondly at him as he entered the room, and instantly the pen went fumbling out of Angel’s fingers and the silly poof practically jumped up into the air. “You did come!”

Spike stuck his hips out and sauntered slowly across the room. “Well, after what you promised on the phone, pet, I couldn’t stay away.”

“Really?” Angel asked, standing up.

Spike tried to hold in his chuckle. “Angel, love. Really. Do you still have no idea how sexy you are?”

Angel was already undoing his top buttons. He brushed his thigh against the corner of the desk and hopped, off-balance on one foot in his haste to get to Spike, who continued his slow, sexy walk across the room like he had all week to do it in.

Really, he did.

Angel grabbed him and kissed him hungrily. “Anything you want,” he said, lips barely parting Spike’s skin. “I meant it.”

“You know that means you’re bottoming, right?”

Angel froze just a second before nodding. “I’m ready for it.”

“Are you? Gonna bend you right over that big overcompensating desk of yours and ream your ass good, pet. Gonna gag you with that nice silk handkerchief,” Spike drew the mentioned object slowly from Angel’s pocket. “Make you try to bite it in two.”

“Wait…” Angel edged back. “No restraints.”

“You said whatever I want.”

“I’m not sure… look, I know, and you know, I have… issues.”

Spike ran the silk handkerchief – a blue-grey paisley pattern on it offset his skin and eyes so well – up his cheek and down again, the edge of the fabric just catching his lips, dragging their fullness slightly. Angel watched, mouth open.

“Well, if you don’t want to,” Spike said, and tossed the handkerchief back at Angel. “I’ll just see you at lunch.” He turned toward the door and made two leisurely steps, silently counting 3… 2…

Angel slammed him against the wall, one knee forcing his legs apart as Angel humped desperately against him, lips and tongues and teeth clashing in a violent kiss.

When Angel finally pulled back, he gasped, “They’re tiny issues. Hardly worth mentioning.”

“That horny?” Spike pushed his hand between the impossibly tight space between them so he could cup Angel’s hard cock.

Angel shrugged and looked playfully petulant. “It has been three hours.”

“How ever did you cope?”

“I didn’t.” Angel wriggled out of his shirt, still pressing forward, trying to climb inside Spike mouth-first.

Spike walked him backward, shrugging out of his duster and letting it hit the ground behind him. Angel had his hands up and under Spike’s shirt almost before it did. He raised his arms from dropping it and Angel pulled his shirt off. As soon as his hands were freed again, Spike reached for the front of Angel’s trousers and undid the button.

Really, they were getting terribly efficient at stripping each other.

“Gonna…” Spike had to turn his head to keep his lips free. Angel, unperturbed, just kept up his assault on the line of his cheek. “Gonna lie down for me, Peaches? Gonna be good and submit to me? Or are you going to struggle and get what bad boys get?”

Angel growled, it was almost a purr, in Spike’s ear, kissing the lobe. “What do bad boys get?”

“Spanked.”

Angel grabbed Spike’s hand and moved it to his ass. Spike’s eyes widened, and then he felt a prick on his ear. He turned to see Angel smiling gin full game-face, looking like a maniac demon. “I’ve been bad,” he said.

“You’re fucking joking,” Spike said.

Angel sucked the tiny wound he’d made on Spike’s earlobe.

Spike pushed him away, turned him and frog-marched him to the desk. At every moment he expected Angel to break his hold, to object, to punch him. But he didn’t. He struggled, a little, more like wriggled his ass, and Spike began to suspect that Angel didn’t have as little experience ‘giving it up’ as he said.

(Darla _did_ have that strap-on carved out of malachite, well he remembered its cold stone touch. Now Spike had an altogether too amusing picture in his mind.)

He removed his belt and passed the tab end through the buckle, making a nice loop he could tighten around Angel’s wrists. “Don’t break this,” he said, making a rough knot that was really a formality.

And then, of course, there was the promised silk scarf. Spike walked around to the other side of the desk, looked considering down at Angel until he looked up.

Spike let the handkerchief dangle against his nipples, one and the other, passing it sensuously over his chest. “Open up, Peaches,” he said.

“That’s Armani,” Angel said.

“All the more reason to get it wet.” Spike balled it up. “Powerful, rich men don’t give a shit about their hankies, do they? You could buy twenty more and just burn them. Isn’t that filthy rich?”

At the word “filthy”, Angel’s mouth dropped wide open.

He looked cute with his mouth stuffed full of silk and his eyes watching Spike hungrily. He tilted his head to the right and nudged a drawer in the desk with his leg.

“That where you keep the lube? Do bad boys _deserve_ lube?” Spike took his time walking around to Angel’s back again – hell, the desk was the size of a mini-van so it wasn’t much artifice adding to his walk. He ran his palm over the plump curve of ass. He ran it up and over the tattoo, and along Angel’s spine. Then he gave one hard blow to the right cheek, sending the whole mass jiggling.

He had to laugh at the muffled noise Angel made, and how he wiggled his backside as though asking for more.

He probably was.

Spike spanked the left cheek, then the right again, alternating sides until there was a nice rosy glow. Then he stroked his hands soothingly over the slightly warmed flesh while he opened the drawer Angel was not trying to shimmy open with his hip.

Sure enough, there was a big old squeeze bottle of astroglide, a hand towel and a magazine. “Oh, Peaches. You’ve been a very, very bad boy, haven’t you? Have you been playing at work?”

There was no telling what the mixed whimpers and grunts coming from Angel meant so Spike just took out the hand towel and let it skate across Angel’s bum, back and forth, feather-light touches, until Angel looked relaxed and calm. Then he twisted the towel into a rat-tail and snapped it at him.

Angel turned and glared at him.

Spike pressed his shoulders to get him to go back down. “Easy there, luv. Not even half-way to the main event.”

He uncapped the lube and dribbled it onto Angel’s coccyx, making a little pool he could dip his fingers into. Then he slid his fingertips up Angel’s spine, raising gooseflesh as he went, and then down, between his ass-cheeks. He circled the pucker just like Angel liked to do to him, figuring the old goat must be imagining his own favorite sensations when he did that. Sure enough, Angel started writhing. Spike caressed his thighs and kept up a gentle pressure.

Angel’s anus was no tight virgin pucker, and the old man was bearing down already, opening himself in anticipation. Spikes fingers slipped in easily, caressed the silky, secret walls, laughing as he hit that particular spot and Angel’s whole body jolted as though from an electric shock.

Spike played with that, watching how often he could make Angel jump like that, passing fingers back and forth, trying lighter and firmer touches. Angel was humping the desk now and his shoulders were flexing like he was considering ripping the leather belt in two.

“Hey! Stay still or you won’t get any,” Spike admonished, slipping his fingers out.

Angel whimpered, but stopped bucking. His flanks quivered like an exhausted horse. Spike stroked them to feel the tremble.

His own cock was threatening to punch through his zipper for a while now, but like hell he was going to not have this be the best fuck Angel had ever had.

Only when Angel stopped whimpering and shivering did Spike undo his zipper, letting the sound fill the room. He positioned himself behind Angel, took his cock in hand and let just the head slide up and down over the entrance, dipping in oh so slightly.

Angel’s bucking and whimpering resumed.

“Just got to make sure you’re prepared here, Sire,” Spike teased, slipping a finger in and twisting it. He nudged his cockhead forward. “Wouldn’t want to hurt you with this.”

Angel spit out the silk handkerchief. “Damn it, Spike. Do it. I can’t… “

“Sh…” Spike stroked his back. “Just feel it, Angel. Don’t say anything.”

Slowly – as slowly as he could force himself with one hand clamped tight on his dick and the other on Angel’s back keeping time – he penetrated Angel.

You could hear the slide of flesh against flesh. Feel the quivering need inside both of them.

“There,” Spike sighed, finally all the way in. He pressed his body as hard against Angel’s as he could. “Nice,” he said.

He only intended to wait a moment, to enjoy the sensation for a second, but Angel was having none of it. With a frustrated roar, he ripped Spike’s belt in two, grabbed the front of the desk and bucked back hard enough to almost send Spike flying.

Spike grabbed Angel’s hips to save himself a sprawl and felt only the very tip of his penis inside him. He pressed forward, enjoying the sensation of insertion all over again and then they began to fuck in earnest. Angel was the most obstinate bottom in the universe, trying always to quicken the pace.

Spike held on tight and maintained control, lifting himself back when necessary to foil Angel’s desires. Only when Angel stopped bucking like a mad bronco did Spike settle into a firm rhythm. He reached under and cupped Angels big, heavy balls, and then moved to stroke his cock in time with his thrusts.

“All this time you been lyin’ to me, you dirty Mick. You’ve taken it up the bum lots before, haven’t you?”

Through gritted teeth, Angel moaned. “Never… uh… never said…”

“Yeah. Well, you never said you’d look so gorgeous takin’ it, either. Go ahead, fuck yourself on me. Show me how you want it.”

Which nearly undid them both. Angel howled and bucked, fucking Spike’s fist and pushing back so frantically it was all Spike could do just to hold on, his feet braced hard in the carpet, trying not to slide back.

Angel came in great ropes, all over the desk and his own stomach, rising up on his arms to roar his climax. He clenched hard – Spike felt his own orgasm almost sucked out of him by the force of it and they ended standing, Spike’s arms wrapped hard and tight around Angel’s chest as he pumped his last drops deep into his sire.

There was a peaceful moment, standing together, still joined, like dance partners. Then Angel tried to take a step and nearly fell.

They leaned on the desk, laughing together.

“You fuckin’ Neanderthal, you broke my belt.”

Angel looked down. “I think you broke my dick,” he countered, and wincing, stood again. “Thank god for private elevators. Shower?”

“Here’s to Private elevators.”

Angel naked, Spike in his open jeans, they supported each other into the lift.

***

After a hot shower and a pair of blowjobs, they finally sat down to lunch. Spike glanced at the clock, smug to find that it was, in fact, just turning twelve.

A catering staff person delivered thermoses of mixed mammal blood – Harmony’s own recipe. Spike raised his in silent appreciation. Who knew the bint could cook?

Angel was still rubbing a towel over his head – there may have been some coming-on-the-hair, which Spike remembered very, very fondly. “What are you going to do after lunch?” Angel asked, drapping his towel over the back of a chair.

“Dunno.” Spike shrugged. “I suppose even we have to do something between shags, eh?”

Angel smirked, but there was a little sadness in his eyes.

They both knew what wasn’t said – the near-constant sex was in part their coping mechanism, filling in all the voids left by a Fred-shaped hole in their lives.

“Thought I might go down to the medical wing,” Spike said, watching his sire carefully over the lip of his mug. “To see Charlie. If that’s all right with you.”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Uh... no reason.” Spike shrugged and hurriedly said, “Hey, this is some blood, huh? Think they got a little mink in there? Has a little nutty flavor to it.”

“Spike, you can go visit Lindsey if you want.”

Spike set down his mug of blood before his numb fingers could drop it. He stared at Angel as though he’d just said he wanted to take up a singing career. “I don’t want to see Lindsey?” Spike said, quickly, and it came out like a question because he was wondering hard if this was a test.

Angel sighed and leaned back in his chair, wriggling a little for comfort. “Spike, I know how I acted, but I promise, I won’t get mad. I have to trust you some time. So yes, go ahead, go see Lindsey. And Gunn. We’ve had enough silence in this building.”

Spike squinted at Angel. “You trust me.” He smiled, then, wide and bright and so beautiful it melted Angel’s heart. “You trust me. Thank you.” He raised his mug. “Here’s to the two studliest vampires ever to walk the earth! Champions, never to be parted!”

Angel raised his mug, and they touched the lips together with a dull clink. “Never,” Angel said. And if Spike blinked a little at his tone, the expression passed quickly.

Spike relaxed in his chair, feeling warm, sated, content. It was finally going to be all right. Not perfect, but all right.


	19. Pretty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Questionable Con, massive dickishness, abusive relationships and minor timeline tweeks
> 
> I dedicate this chapter to the incomparable **ash_carpenter** , whose fic [Pretty](http://ash-carpenter.livejournal.com/46099.html) I must now openly confess was the impetus for this whole adventure.
> 
> Any similarity is meant as pure homage, baby! I hope you likes!

Lindsey felt his heart bang against the plaster holding his ribs still. “Spike.”

The blonde vampire ducked his head and stepped into the room. Only one step into the room. “Just came to see if you were still in one piece. Looks like you are, so…” He jerked his thumb back toward the exit and started to turn on his heel.

“Wait. Jesus fuck, man, come here.” Lindsey pushed himself up against the pillows and grabbed for the control that would raise his head. “I haven’t had any visitors. I’m about to drive the nurses crazy.”

Spike advanced cautiously on the bed, scratching his nose. “Angel, uh… sorry about that, mate. He goes all wild-man, you know? When his people are threatened. It was grief and frustration talking. Sorry it was talking with fists, but there you have it.” Spike shrugged. “Sorry.”

“Angel was already down to apologize, on his own, actually.” Lindsey rested his head back on the pillows. He studied Spike’s face, drinking it in. He was beautiful. And he was never going to see him again, not like this, looking at him with compassion.

“Didn’t think the old sod had ‘sorry’ in his vocabulary!”

“Not a very flattering way to talk about your boyfriend,” Lindsey said, looking pointedly at Spike.

“You figured that part out, did you?” Spike pretended to be interested in the monitors next to Lindsey’s bedside. “Angel and me – this is a thing that’s been brewing a long time. I mean a _long_ time. Christ, your mum wasn’t in diapers.”

“He’s a lucky bastard.”

“Wasn’t anything to do with you, I hope you realize that. I… well, I’m still angry about the whole ‘Doyle’ thing, hope you know that, but not everything you said was a lie, was it?”

Spike looked vulnerable, hoping. Lindsey bit his lip. There were things he could say, right here, and steal the vampire’s heart. He was sure of it. His eyes flicked to the camera, visible there behind the ceiling grate, staring balefully at him.

Lindsey composed his features into a leer. “Damn, Spike, you turn me on just being here, you know that? Think my dick’s harder than this fuckin’ cast. You wanna help a guy out?” He jerked his hand hard against the cloth restraint.

Spike gave him a blank expression worthy of such dickish behavior. “I’m with Angel now,” he said.

This was it. Time to cut the strings. “No harm no foul, Spike. Angel’s got more money, more power. I get that.” Lindsey almost winced at his own words. He gritted his teeth into a smile.

“What, no, that isn’t…”

“Hey, it’s cool. Seriously. I knew what you were when I signed on, didn’t I? All I could give you was a crap apartment. Hell, how old was that TV?”

Spike narrowed his eyes. “By ‘what I was’ I hope you’re talking ‘vampire’.”

“Don’t play with me. Cards are on the table.” Lindsey smiled broadly. “You’re a pretty guy, Spike. The kind that can be bought. I knew that, and Angel obviously knows it. Enjoy the good life, fella, you earned it.”

Spike opened and closed his mouth. He turned, not even expiring another breath, and strode from the room.

Lindsey let his head fall back and sighed. He wished he could have made it last longer, the conversation, the looks. But he flicked his eyes up to the security camera trained on his bed and, for good measure, extended his middle finger at it too.

***

“Where have you been?” Angel asked as Spike slipped into the apartment.

Spike glanced only briefly at him. “Took a walk,” he said, heading for the bathroom.

Angel followed. He knew, of course, where Spike had been, from the security report. Spike had left the medical wing at a full trot, heading out to do some damage to the local demon population. Nothing remarkable had happened, and Angel had time to watch the video of Lindsey’s beautiful betrayal twice. He especially liked the part where Lindsey flipped him the bird. A silent, impotent testimony to just how beaten he was.

Spike closed the bathroom door almost in Angel’s face. Angel forgave him that, pushing it open again to watch Spike pull his t-shirt off. “Did something happen?”

“No,” Spike said, and threw his shirt at Angel. “Just want to take a shower and go to sleep, all right?”

Angel knew Spike had slain two vampires and gotten in a bit of a fist-fight with a Fyarl. He knew that when he was walking back, a car had pulled alongside him, the driver calling out a proposition not heard by the security detail, and Spike had fanged out in response, sending the car squealing away.

“Something’s bothering you; I can tell.”

“Brilliant deduction. His name’s Angel and he’s over-protective.”

Angel stripped off his shirt and followed Spike into the shower, taking him in his arms. “Let me make it better.” He kissed his neck. Spike just slumped in his arms.

Angel washed him and dried him and dragged him unresisting to his bed. Spike said nothing about what Lindsey had said, or about his thoughts during his ‘walk’. Spike said very little at all, even when Angel pushed him gently onto his stomach and slicked him up.

Angel took his time, making love to Spike in long, easy strokes, like waves on the beach. It was good, deeply satisfying, to Angel, anyway. He finally had his boy all to himself.

But he woke up alone.

Spike sat at the breakfast table, sipping his blood, eyes on the polished wood surface.

Angel frowned at him. “Why aren’t you wearing the clothes I gave you?”

“These are my clothes, Angel. This is how I dress.”

Angel tossed his newspaper on the table. “Do I have to tell you how you look when you dress like that?”

“Like a total bad-ass?”

“No.” Angel sighed, folding his arms and leaning against the counter in his suite kitchen. “You look like a hustler; like my kept boy.”

Spike’s eyes shot up, bright and angry. “I what?”

Angel held out his hands, placating. “It’s not me saying this, Spike, it’s everyone else. Look, you’re living with an executive now. People see me in an Armani suit and you next to me in jeans from Sears. There’s only so many ways they can put two and two together.”

“I don’t dress for _them_ ,” Spike growled. He stood up. “If you have a problem with how I dress, for you, then I’ll hear it, but I don’t give a fuck what your corporate business partners say about me.”

“I care what they say about you.” Angel followed him to the door, hands in his pockets. “It hurts me, Spike, to hear you insulted like that.”

Spike stopped at the elevator, his arm falling limply to his side. “I’ll think about shopping for new jeans, all right?”

“Take Harmony with you when you go. She can charge it to my account.”

Spike grimaced. “Yeah, all right.” He jabbed the button to call the elevator again.

“And do you have your cell charged up?”

Spike pulled the phone from his pocket and waggled it at Angel.

Angel stuck his hand out to stop the elevator doors from closing after Spike stepped in. “Just talk to Harm about when you want to go shopping and she’ll let me know.”

Spike raised his eyebrows. “Just going downstairs for a smoke, Angel.”

“You didn’t give me a kiss goodbye.” He stepped fully into the elevator doorway, lowering his chin and pouting.

“For the love of gravy,” Spike muttered, and stepped forward, intending to place a quick peck on Angel’s lips, but Angel grabbed him and held him there longer, tongue urgently seeking entrance until Spike relented and returned a deeper kiss.

“You love it,” Angel chided.

“Talk to you in twenty, like always,” Spike said, and patted Angel’s shoulder. “Try to cope with the loss.”

“Baby, don’t sound that way. I just like to know where you are. I like to make sure we get to spend as much time as possible together.”

Spike sighed, and forced a more pleasant expression on his face. He twisted out of Angel’s grasp. “See you at lunch.” He let his hand drop and brush ever so lightly on the front of Angel’s trousers before stepping back into the elevator with a smirk.

Angel balled his fist and hit it against the elevator doors when they closed. It was just like Spike to leave him hanging.

How long could this go on? He was being SO GOOD to the boy, when did he get his reward?

Angel finished getting ready for work, and then he pulled his cell out and hit the call button.

After far too many rings, Spike’s bored voice said, “It hasn’t been twenty minutes yet.”

“Why do you never call me?”

He could almost see the eye-roll that accompanied the quick exhalation. “Not really a need to do that, peaches, when you call me every five minutes.”

“Why are you mad at me?”

Slowly, reasonably. “I’m not mad.”

“Was it something I said? Something you want?”

“No. No, love. Look, I have this meeting scheduled with Wes, and if I’m not on time there’s no telling if he’s going to be sober.”

Angel groaned in frustration. He wanted desperately to talk about the conversation Spike had with Lindsey – when would Spike turn to him for consolation? “Baby, come back up here. My dick’s so hard it’s ripping my pants.”

“Well, there’s a romantic vision. You’ll get your end away at lunch like always. A little patience is good for the soul.”

And Spike hung up on him. Again. Angel sighed heavily. He punched the number for Harmony.

“Morning, Bossy. Your blood will be on your desk in just two secs.”

“That’s fine, Harmony. I’m still on my way down. Listen, Spike needs a new wardrobe. I want you to take charge of it.”

He held his phone away from his ear as Harmony squealed with joy. “Omigawd. I know just what to get. I’ve been looking at this sapphire blazer in Nordstrom’s…”

“That… that’s great, Harmony. Just make sure he doesn’t go shopping without you. I don’t trust his taste.”

“Good thinking. Ugh. He’d, like, just wear the same clothes every day if you let him. This one time…”

Angel cut the call and went back to the kitchen to get his paper.

When he sat down to his desk, Harmony had already set the morning’s agenda and a fresh mug of her special blood-blend in easy reach. He took a sip, pleased to find it precisely body-temperature. Harmony was as annoying as a holy water soaked hair shirt, but he had to admit she was a good PA.

He hit the speed-dial on his desk phone and let it ring on speaker while he sorted his first appointments of the day.

It rang and rang until it clicked off. Angel stared at his phone. Spike always picked up!

Had it all backfired? Angel pressed redial and stared at the phone while it went through the same cycle of unanswered rings.

He checked his agenda, and Spike’s, which Harmony graciously provided for him. There was the morning smoke by the loading dock, and then a meeting with Wesley about Illyira. Then he was testing Illyria until a nice, generously-sized lunch hour when they were going to have sex. If they were going to have sex ever again!

Angel pressed redial again.

“Wot? I’m in a meeting.”

Angel growled. “I’ve had enough of your sulking, Spike. Get back here, now.”

“Or what, you’ll fire me?”

“Yes.” This time, Angel hung up.

***

Wesley’s eyes seemed to bore right through Spike as he put away his cell phone. “Look, the poof’s having a menstrual fit and he’s not going to stop interrupting until I go kiss it better.”

“Certainly. Your romantic life is more important than a hell-god and the power she can unleash any moment now.”

Said hell-god glanced up only briefly from her minute, yet bored, inspection of the lab.

“Just set her in front of a houseplant, Wes! I’ll be back in five minutes.” Spike gestured helplessly and stormed out before that knowing look could get to him.

He knew he should just turn the phone off. He shouldn’t keep letting Angel have his way.

But still he was marching right back to the poof’s office, prepared to weather an emotional storm when, quite frankly, he felt like shit and didn’t want to put up with it.

Angel didn’t look up as he threw the doors to his office open. “Well, what couldn’t wait? I’ve got a hell-god taking up horticulture and Wes looking at me like I’m pissing in his paddlin’ pool.”

“Come here,” Angel said, not looking up from the document he was reading.

“We can talk at this distance, Peaches.”

“I said come here.” Angel repeated in the same tone.

Spike shifted his stance. “What are you playing at?” Angel was silent, not even looking at him. So Spike, unsure, closed the distance between them.

Angel shot out of his chair as soon as Spike was within striking distance, grabbing his throat and slamming him into the wall. “You come when I call you.”

Spike gasped against the constriction. “What?”

“And when I call you I expect you to answer. I don’t have all day to hang on the phone waiting for you.”

Spike frowned and pushed away. “We don’t have time for this. Percy’s got some problem with Illyria. She’s leaking energy or mojo or something and...”

“Just stop. Wes doesn’t need your help. He’s just keeping you busy. In fact, you’re probably in his way, so don’t use him as an excuse to stay away from me.”

Spike winced, rubbing his throat. “What the hell has gotten into you?”

“What’s gotten in to me? You’ve been sulking since last night, hardly even looking at me,” Angel threw his hands up. “Oh, except to throw a little tease here and there. Are you trying to drive me mad? Do you want me to beat you, is that it? Are you so into violence you have to drive me to beat you down and fuck you dry every week?”

There was a glimmer of fear in Spike’s eyes as he bristled and stepped away. He covered it as always by fishing around for his cigarettes. “Fuck off, Angel. You’re old enough to know a bloke isn’t always going to be in the mood.”

Angel smirked. “Please. This is you. Are you ever going to put out, or did one conversation with Lindsey turn you off men?”

Spike turned away, lighting his cigarette – indoors, against company policy. Angel decided to let it slide, again. He leaned back against the edge of his desk and softened his voice. “Come on Spike, what did he say to you?”

“What? Weren’t listening in?”

“I told you I’d respect your privacy.”

Spike turned, squinting hard. “How do you do this? How do you pull this jealous, needy shit and then leave me feeling like I owe you an apology?”

Angel, stony-faced as ever, just said, “Come here.”

Spike blinked. Angel nodded, as though a question had been asked. “Come here,” he repeated.

Spike was obviously considering telling him off and going back to the lab, but Angel was patient. He leaned back and kept his gaze steady until, as he always did, Spike gave in. He took two hesitating steps forward. “Why?”

Angel grabbed his arms and pulled him flush against him. “You owe me this,” he said, almost snarling, and kissed Spike hard, hands digging deep into his ass.  
  
Spike wrenched himself from the grip. “Stop. Wait, Angel…”

Angel growled with frustration and twisted, throwing Spike down against the desk. “You cocktease. What do you want, Spike? I’ve given you everything.”

“That isn’t what this is about.”

“Is it? You’re leading me around by my dick.”

“No, I’m not. At least – I don’t mean to.”

Angel pressed close against him, grinding his erection into his hip. “Then give me what’s mine.”

Spike nodded, slightly. He gave in. It was easier, wasn’t it? Give in and he still had Angel the lover. Fight and he had Angel the enemy. So he undid his fly and pushed his pants down. But Angel grabbed his shoulder and pressed him down, so he knelt and undid Angel’s trousers and tried not to think that it was worse, giving in and doing this, himself, than having Angel force him.

But Angel didn’t force him. Angel held his neck, thumb digging in hard against his esophagus so he could feel the swallowing motions, but if anything he was gentler than usual, not taking over and fucking Spike’s throat as he usually did. And rather than come, he hauled Spike to his feet and kissed him before pushing him toward the desk.  
Spike spread his legs and made the sounds Angel liked best because he just wanted it over quickly, and really, it wasn’t like he didn’t enjoy it, some. He did. Angel was gentle, if methodical, and kissed him generously when he was done.

It was worse, that he kissed him. Spike couldn’t explain why, but it was.

An hour later he made it back to the labs. Wes looked up from the liquids he was mixing and said, dryly, “So glad you could join us. Boyfriend happy?”

Spike felt Wes’ eyes on the bruises at his throat and covered them with his hand. “Uh, yeah. Sorry, Percy. Didn’t think that was going to take so long.”

Wes made a small noise that could either have been affirmative or negative but which really existed only to show his displeasure. “As I was saying before we were interrupted, I could use your help with the assembly.” Wes raised a flask of something peacock-colored and, clearly deciding it would do, placed it carefully on a cooling rack before turning to the table strewn with mechanical parts that he gestured Spike toward.

“Wes, you… you really need my help, right? You’re not just, uh, keeping me busy?”

“This is going to be the delivery mechanism.” He lifted a disassembled frame from one of the security force’s stun guns, dropping it with an unceremonious clunk back onto the table. “Here are the plans. This cylinder needs to be mounted near the power supply. Just use hose clamps and cut them to length. Can you do that?”

Spike ducked his eyes away from Wes’ too-intent gaze. “Yeah. I can do that easy, Wes. I told you I worked on cars some.”

“Try not to screw it up. I’ll be back to show you the next step when I finish the stabilizing spell.”

And just like that Wes was back to his chemistry set, not a glance or word thrown back to his assistant for the day. There was nothing warm left in Wesley since Fred had passed.

Spike turned the strange cylinder over and picked up a hose-clamp. It wouldn’t be hard at all to attach it. He set to work, though his throat was sore and his ass hurt, and he was trying very hard not to let that remind him why he was really there.


	20. Ugly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear. I really, really am appalled at myself. (Okay, not really.)
> 
> WARNINGS: Non-con, hospital play, violence, bondage, all sorts of nastiness and really, this chapter totally tops that other chapter when I said no one should read it, ever.
> 
> Angel has finally flipped his trolly completely off the tracks. How will we ever get our champion back?

One minute he was standing there, looking down as Wes tended to Illyria. “Smurfette’s going to be sleeping that off for a while,” he said.

And then Angel was dragging him from the room, silent, angry, all motion. He didn’t answer any questions, just pulled Spike back to the apartment and threw him into his room.

After he slammed the door Spike took a moment to realize he was alone. He went to open the door again and discovered it was locked from the outside.

“Angel? Angel, let me out. Come on, it’s not funny.” He pushed at the door, then shoved at it. The wood veneer cracked, showing metal underneath.

He staggered back to the bed, staring at the door, trying not to think why Angel would have thought ahead to get a door he couldn’t break down, and then make it lock from the outside.

He waited. He took a nap, not having the energy or interest to do much else. He woke and stared at the ceiling. He checked the time and took out his cell, hitting ‘redial’ with his thumb and taking a deep breath.

“Angel?”

There was a pause, a wet intake of breath. “I can’t talk about this right now, Spike.”

The phone went dead.

Later he saw a shadow pass over the thin line of light that seeped in under the door. He pressed his palm to the cracked wood and knew Angel was just on the other side. “Angel, please, whatever you want. I’m wearing the clothes you picked out. They’re all right, they are. Just let me out.”

He heard the sad old git breathing, heard his hand leave the door and watched his shadow slip away. “ANGEL! Damn it!” Spike balled his fist and hit the door again.

Angel’s was the only number programmed into the phone. Spike sighed and wished he’d bothered adding others. He dialed 411 and found his phone was blocked from the service. He stared at the display. You can block 411?

He considered dialing 911 next, but decided against it. What would he say? “Hi, I’m a vampire and my over-protective sire has locked me in?”

He started dialing randomly, the same exchange as Angel’s number, hoping to get someone else in the building. He got three disconnects and a voicemail with no name. “Hi. This is Spike. Uh… anyone gets this, please have Fred… fuck, what am I thinking? Have Lorne or Wes or Gunn give me a call back at this number, yeah? Whoever you are?”

He grimaced at himself and resumed dialing. He got a confused woman who only spoke Spanish next, and not the same accent as Spike had learned, or he ate that Spanish teacher too quickly. He thought maybe he’d explained who he was and she agreed to have someone call him, but he couldn’t be sure.

After the next number, the cell ran out of battery.

His charger was by Angel’s bed, where he’d slept the night before.

He threw the useless piece of plastic at the wall. It split neatly into two parts at the hinge and the battery popped off, flying in a third direction. He ran his hands through his hair and tried to quell the fear. Angel wouldn’t just leave him in here to starve.

He paced. He smoked. He wished he hadn’t disabled the fire alarms so he COULD smoke. Surely a fire alarm would bring someone in.

He watched the television sporadically, flipping through channels without a will to settle down on anything.

He felt stupid, but he kept on the clothes Angel had picked out for him, though the feel of soft slacks on his legs was, well, weird after half a century in jeans. He kept scratching himself, thinking an insect had alighted on his thigh.

Every once in a while he would hear Angel, or someone, walk by, and he’d go to the door, press his ear to it and call out. “Angel?”

***

Lindsey was doing better – most of the sprains and strains were healed, and the miserable chest-stabilizer had come off. It was boring as hell, though – or more boring, rather, since he had a hell to compare to now. The nurses brought him old magazines and books, but that was the sum total of his entertainment options, unless you counted calculating how long it would take between the pain-meds wearing off and his next dose. That was a laugh a minute.

So Lindsey was actually happy, relatively, to see Angel suddenly standing at the foot of his bed. “To what do I owe the fuckin’ honor?”

“I wanted to thank you, for doing as I asked.”

“You’re un-welcome.”

Angel hooked a finger under Lindsey’s hand, which he tried to tug away, reaching the end of his one foot of restraint. Angel’s fingers spider-walked Lindsey’s palm, separating out the digits and holding them, despite Lindsey’s best efforts to escape. “I especially liked the part where you said you couldn’t jerk off tied up like this. I admit, the thought hadn’t occurred to me.” He lowered his face, examining the hand trapped in his. “Is this your ‘evil’ hand?”

“No,” Lindsey said, and cleared his throat against the distress that had squeaked out. “Evil hand’s attached to the broken arm, asshole.” He nudged his head toward the cast, suspended from a sling beside him.

And then, Angel opened his mouth over Lindsey’s middle finger, licking along the pad and lightly sucking the tip.

The bed creaked as Lindsey struggled to pull away from the stronger-than-human grip. “Jesus Christ! You’re insane!”

Angel let the finger trail over his lip as he raised his head. “No. I told you, I’m thanking you.” He reached across the bed then, and said, “Ah!” When he felt Lindsey hardening under the thin hospital blanket.

Lindsey stared at him, helpless and angry, and yes, lust thumping through him with his heart beat, filling his cock under the vampire’s heavy hand.

Angel watched his hand moving over nubbled white cotton. “I’ve had a very stressful day,” he said, conversationally. “How about you, Lindsey? Could you use some relief?”

Lindsey groaned, arching up into the friction. “Maybe,” he said. “What, did your boy toy run off already?”

Angel’s hand stilled. “Spike’s fine,” he said.

“Oh, that doesn’t sound like a ‘fine’ to me, hoss. My stars, is there trouble in paradise? Did you accidentally let him know what a dick you are?”

Angel’s hand tightened and Lindsey made a strangled cry. “This could have been very pleasant for you, Lindsey. You clearly like pain.”

“Sadistic prick.”

Angel nodded. “I am. I really am.” He pulled the blanket off Lindsey and tossed it casually on the floor. “I try not to be, of course, but there it is, deep down inside, I like causing pain. So you see, I try to keep those urges checked.” He grabbed hold of the hospital gown Lindsey wore and with one swift tug the ties gave way. “And only. Hurt. The evil.”

Angel caressed his face with the torn hospital gown, inhaling deeply. “What is it about hospitals?” he mused, and tossed the garment after the blanket.

Lindsey watched in horrified fascination, his exposed cock flapping against his stomach eagerly, stupid organ. He couldn’t touch it, only stare at the thing and try to will it down. Not that it would matter at this point, Angel had seen more than enough.

Angel lowered the side-rail on the bed, jerking Lindsey’s hand down with it, tightening his bondage. He hummed a little to himself, walking around the bed. He removed the IV from Lindsey’s arm with a practiced hand, painless and efficient.

“You’re really gone. I thought it was just the jealousy. Shit.”

Angel adjusted the sling so Lindsey’s broken elbow was off further to the side. Then he lowered the rail at the foot of the bed and picked up the bed controls, raising Lindsey’s head and lowering his feet. “I used to smell the thrill, Lindsey, whenever I walked past you, your dick would stand at attention. I guess I can forgive you the thing with Spike, really, you’re not the first to use him as the next best thing.” Angel paused to admire his work, then picked up a roll of gauze and some scissors. “Say ‘ah’!”

“You won, Angel. What the hell do you want me to say? I’m fuckin’ tied to the bed. You got Darla. You got Spike. You got the fuckin’ job I wanted.”

“And I have you,” Angel finished, pressing his knee between Lindsey’s legs, forcing them apart as he climbed onto the bed. “Now shut up, Lindsey, and let’s play doctor.”

***

“Oh, hey man!’

Angel stopped in his tracks. Gunn appeared in a doorway, holding on to an IV stand. “Come to see me?”

Angel felt a stab of guilt. He forced a smile. “Yes. I wasn’t told you were up.”

“Yeah. Doc says I can go home tonight. Want to see the scar?”

“I don’t, really, uh…”

“Naw, it’s cool. Come sit down. I’m so stir-crazy. If it weren’t for Harmony bringing me work now and again, I’d be crawling on the walls.”

Gunn sat on the edge of his hospital bed, hands folded in his lap with the tubes and wires of his IV. “Listen, Angel. I – I don’t know how to live with what happened, with what I did. But I want to keep on fighting the good fight. You get that, don’t you?”

Angel nodded. “Better than you can realize.”

“Have you talked to Wes? Is he, I mean…”

“Wes is working,” Angel said. “He’s really taking up the cause of understanding and controlling Illyria. She might actually turn out to be an asset.”

Gunn’s face was unreadable. “Are we going to have weekly staff meetings again?”

“Oh. I hadn’t thought of that. Well, yes. We should, I guess. I’ll talk to Harmony.”

Gunn smiled. “Is she running the company now, or you?”

“A little of both.” Angel shrugged. “Listen, Gunn. I have to go. But it’s good to see you up and about.”

“Oh, hey. I didn’t get to show you my scar. It’s wicked. Think I’ll hit the beaches shirtless all summer just to show it off.”

Angel held up a hand. “No, Gunn. Really. Hospitals, injuries… make me queasy.”

“Heh. A vampire afraid of the sight of blood!”

Angel grimaced. “Good to see you, Gunn,” he repeated, and walked out of the medical wing.

***

“Angelkins?” Lorne rushed to catch Angel on his way out of a meeting. “Have you seen Spike? Our little frosted cupcake hasn’t been around for days and I’m getting worried.”

“Hey, yeah,” Harmony said, peeking up from her notepad. “I was supposed to go shopping with him last week.”

“Spike will be at the staff meeting on Monday,” Angel said. “He hasn’t been feeling well.”

***

It was Sunday. Angel waited a long time outside Spike’s room, listening to make sure he was asleep – the security cameras had shown as much, but… no, Angel was stalling. He opened the door. “Spike?”

The room was a mess, and smelled strongly of Spike, who stirred on the bed.

He was wearing the blue silk shirt Angel had picked out for him. Angel felt tears threatening from that alone. “Spike,” he said, and crawled onto the foot of the bed. Spike flinched, and scooted back to sit against the headboard.

“Is it? Are? Angel. You locked me in.”

Angel followed him, reaching out to touch his cheek and then straighten the collar of his shirt. “I had to know you were safe. I’m sorry, Spike. You scared me.”

“I scared _you_?”

Angel blinked tears out of his eyes that he could no longer hold back. “You were dust. I saw it. In the time-loop. Illyria staked you right in front of me.”

He ran his hands over Spike’s arms, assuring himself that he was solid.

“Didn’t happen, love. You stopped it. I’m here, aren’t I? Why don’t we go out into the kitchen and have us a little brekky, yeah? I’m starved.”

“No,” Angel’s grip tightened as Spike started to move to get up. With a sad, tired sigh, he said, “No, Spike, I’m not ready to let you out of this room.”

“Not ready! Bleeding buggering hell, Angelus! I’ve been locked in here a week! You can’t do this!”

Spike kicked Angel away from him and jumped from the bed, only to be tackled and thrown, his back hitting the bedpost hard and sending fear racing through his mind as he remembered the helplessness of paralysis.

But no, thank god, there was no numbness, and he felt quite plainly Angel snapping the metal restraint onto his ankle.

The fight went out of him. He twisted, staring at his own ankle. “Angelus, no. No don’t do this. I’ll leave! You fucker, I’m not staying with you if you pull this shit, this… oh fuck.” He raised his eyes to Angel’s calm face and realized he’d said about the worst thing he could have. He scooted back, up onto the bed proper and changed tactics. “Angel, love, you don’t have to do this. I’ll stay put, yeah? I know you get insecure and afraid and so I’ll just stay right here and do what you tell me, all right? Just take the shackle off, love. That’s not a loving act.”

Angel took off his shirt and smiled. “You look pretty, Spike, in that shirt, and with your hair all tossled.”

“Yeah, thanks, Peaches. You’re looking quite nummy yourself.”

Angel took Spike’s wrists in hand and pressed them to the headboard. “Don’t call me ‘Peaches’, or ‘Angelus’, Spike. We’ve been over this.”

“Right. All right. But you know I just…”

“Sh,” Angel pressed his lips to Spike’s unresisting ones. “Shush, baby. God, I’ve missed you. It’s been a long, long week.” He ground the evidence of his deprival against Spike.

“You’re not right, Angel. You’re acting crazy.”

“You drive me crazy, Spike. You scare me, you deny me, and I just don’t know what to do. God, the things I did to Lindsey.”

Spike swallowed against a lump in his throat, stretching away from Angel, who was now humping quite steadily against him, sweating and groaning. “What did you do to Lindsey?

“I had no choice, Spike. You weren’t there. I got so horny and lonely.”

Spike leaned his head back, though it hurt to press against the hard wood of the headboard, and laughed mirthlessly. “I was in here. Where you locked me.”

“I wouldn’t have to if you would let me keep you safe. Oh, baby. I’m so hard. I want it all. Suck me, baby. I want to see your lips on me.”

“No. No, Angel. Get off!”

Weak as he was from a week without food, Spike gathered his strength and pushed Angel away from him. Angel stared at him dumbfounded.

“You can’t do this to me. You want to fuck me? Set me free. I’m not your whore.”

The backhand sent his head flying, his senses dazed. Angel grabbed him and hauled him up, against his chest, thick arms wrapped around his shoulders, hands locked behind his head in a full-nelson. “This was going to be good, Spike. I was going to let you feed from me. We were going to make love. Tomorrow, I was going to let you out. But you’re not ready, I can see that.”

“Angel… fuck… ready? I’m starving, you bastard.”

“All I want is for you to love me, Spike. Is that too much to ask? Are you even capable of love, you little shit?”

He pushed Spike down into the mattress, one hand holding him down by the neck while the other worked busily on his clothes.

Spike lay still, trying to take it, trying to think of a way out of this. But then he was being fucked, and it hurt. It hurt as badly as the first time, and his head was spinning and he didn’t want to hear the words Angel was spitting in his ear.

“It’s all. Your. Fault. Spike. I was doing fine. Uh. I was helping people. Then you came along. You. Little. Shit. You tease me and you deny me. You make me hurt you.”

Angel came quickly, with a roar, lifting Spike off the bed to press into him as tightly as he could. Then he threw him down.

Spike stayed still, hurting and loathing everything about where he was and what he felt. Angel was standing now, re-fastening his trousers. “I’ll be back in the morning, Spike. Just… just think about what you’ve done, okay? Good night.”

And, once again, the door slammed shut.

***

“Spike’s still not feeling well?” Gunn looked around the staff room, seeing Wesley and Lorne and Harmony.

Angel sighed. “I tried to get him out of bed this morning. Really, I think he’s faking it.”

“I could talk to him,” Lorne said. “See what’s troubling our little crumbcake.”

“Really, guys, it’s fine. I’ve asked the company psychiatrist to talk to him. Now, let’s get this meeting underway? Gunn, what’s this ‘Fell Brotherhood’ item?”

It was a tense meeting, but though Gunn and Wes wouldn’t look at each other or talk directly to each other, at least they were in the same room.

And Spike had begged so sweetly, that morning, to be let out, to be fed. He’d knelt in front of his sire like a good boy and wrapped his loving lips around Angel’s cock. He sucked like he couldn’t live without it.

But, of course, he hadn’t meant it, yet, when he said he’d be good. Angel could tell. But still, like Gunn and Wes in the same room, it was a start, a very good start.


	21. His Boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooh kay. Uh... er... Stop me if this sounds familiar:
> 
> Don't read this chapter! OMG! It's one big long self-indulgent nasty kinkfest with no redeeming value!
> 
> Got that?
> 
> Warnings: Daddy!Kink (like, a lot), BDSM, questionable consent, bondage, savage misuse of whiskey

It was eleven thirty. Angel would be up soon, for lunch. Spike ran his hands over his face and through his hair, trying to feel if everything was all right. He was wearing the grey slacks and the green shirt. (He had no choice on the slacks, they were the ones he had on when Angel had fastened the shackle to his leg and so they could come off, but really, nothing else could come on.) The clothes Angel had gotten for him were in every color but black and red. Either he was trying to force Spike away from his own preferences, or Angel just wanted all the stereotypical vampire attire to himself. He smoothed down the pockets. They were empty. He had run out of cigarettes and really, what else did he need to carry?

He walked to the edge of the bed, the chain making quiet sounds against the carpet and his pant-leg. He could just reach the cupboards. He couldn’t reach the door. He sat down to wait.

He heard the elevator arrive, and Angel’s measured tread. Then he saw the shadow under the door and heard the key turn in the lock. He stood. The door opened.

“Hey, Spike. Everyone missed you at the meeting.” Angel tucked the key into his pocket.

“Would have liked to have been there,” Spike said, evenly.

Angel closed the distance between them and put his fingers lightly on Spike’s cheeks, kissing him gently. “You look stunning in green, you know that?”

“Not really. Angel, unlock this chain, please. I told you I won’t run away.”

Angel ran his thumb over Spike’s jaw and settled his hands comfortably around his neck. “I wish I could believe you, baby. I really do.”

“You don’t have to, Angel. Isn’t that the point? I get it: you have the power. This building, all the people in it, resources I could never dream of having, even if I were still evil. Anyway, I can never escape you, not completely. You know that.”

Angel smiled. “That’s so sweet, to hear you say that.” He stepped even closer to Spike, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him tight against his body. “Kiss me, baby.”

Spike did, open-mouthed, let himself surrender to it; hoped Angel could feel that he was giving up. “I’m sorry,” he said, when their lips parted. “I’m sorry that I made you worry and I’m sorry for not putting you first. Please, Angel, just undo the chain.”

“Let’s not talk about that now,” Angel said. He worked his hands inside the collar of Spike’s shirt and started undoing the buttons, pushing the fabric aside and caressing his shoulders. “You were so sweet this morning, baby. Are you going to be good for daddy?”

Spike was grateful Angel’s face was buried in his neck so the old git wouldn’t see him grit his teeth and roll his eyes. “Yes, Angel.”

Angel rose his lips to Spike’s ear, nipping the cartilage. “Call me ‘daddy’,” he said.

“Are you helping me get undressed, Daddy?” Spike craned his neck back from the small kisses and bites Angel was administrating.

“Yes, it’s time for your nap, little one.” Angel had worked Spike’s shirt completely off now and was pushing it the last bit off his arms while his mouth continued to map the contours of his neck.

Spike made a fist, briefly, but let it go. If he was going to make him play this game, he’d play it all right. “Well, I don’t want a nap,” he said. “I just took one.”

Angel straightened to look him in the eye. Spike raised his eyebrows. “An’ I’m hungry.”

Angel rubbed his hand in light circles on Spike’s stomach. “Didn’t you like what Daddy gave you this morning? Didn’t I fill up your belly? Do you want more?”

“Angel!” Spike whined, surprised his belly didn’t cave in against the vacuum inside it.

Angel smacked him lightly on the ass. “Daddy,” he reprimanded.

“Daddy, I’m hungry, please give me some fuckin’ blood before I expire!”

Angel stepped back, glowering darkly. “William, who taught you that dirty word?”

The role-play was ridiculous. His stomach was eating itself, churning on nothing but a glob of cum. Spike raised his chin. “Think it was my fuckin’ daddy.”

He expected to be backhanded. Instead Angel walked to the door of the room. “I think you need a time out.” He fished in his pocket for his key.

“Fuck. No. Angel, I mean, Daddy, wait. Don’t lock me in here again, please. I’m sorry.” The chain ran taut against his leg as he tried to follow.

Angel turned in the room door, a hand still in his pocket. “Do you promise to behave?”

Spike didn’t need to fake the anxious plea. “Yes, Daddy.”

Angel cupped Spike’s chin, tilting his head painfully back as he stepped close. “You’re going to have to be punished, William, for talking back and for saying bad words. How do you think you deserve to be punished?”

Spike felt an involuntary shudder, looking up into that stern, unreadable face. “Come on, Ang…” The hand at his chin grabbed hard and shook him. “Daddy,” he quickly recovered. “Don’t make me pick.”

He hung, suspended for a moment, one hand reaching for Angel’s to try and loosen the painful grip.

Then Angel smiled. He let his hand fall to Spike’s throat. “I love you, William, so I have to be fair. You understand that, don’t you?” Spike nodded, mutely. “We’re going to have to wash your mouth out, and give you a spanking. Then you’ll take your medicine and go to bed without supper. You understand?”

Spike’s mind spun, trying to figure out what perverted act “washing your mouth out” referred to, especially if there was a separate medicine-taking, but he nodded.

“Good boy,” Angel said. He used his thumb to push Spike’s lower lip down and leaned in for a long, thorough kiss, mapping out each cold, numb surface of Spike’s mouth. He pulled back only a very small space to speak, his lips moving against Spike’s as he spoke. “You’re a very small boy, William, and you shouldn’t say words like that. You need to obey your daddy because he knows best for you. Now take your trousers off and get on the bed.” Angel pushed him back.

Spike stumbled a bit on the chain. He fumbled with his fly and didn’t look back at Angel. Just get through it, he told himself. He pushed his pants down and bent to shove the one leg down the chain so it was free from him. He sat on the edge of the bed, knees together, hands clasped over his groin, like a small boy might. He figured it was what Angel wanted, and if he was a little scared, himself, well, he let it show, even tried to concentrate on the fear, amplify it, imagining all the worst things that could happen.

Angel stood in front of him, hands on his hips. “Now, to wash that filthy little mouth out.”

Spike didn’t raise his eyes, only saw Angel’s waist turn and walk from the room. What was it to be? Holy water? He wouldn’t put it past the bastard. Maybe just soap. Or, god, maybe the sod was really just joking and it would be blood.

Angel returned and he looked up, hopeful. To his surprise, Angel had a decanter of whiskey in one fist and a towel in the other. He pulled the top off with a wet pop and thrust it toward Spike. “Drink it down. All of it. I don’t want to see a drop spilled.”

Spike had to repressed a relieved smile. “Yes, Daddy,” he said, and took the decanter. Chugging a fifth of whiskey was not outside of his normal entertainment options. He tilted the bottle back and made quick work of it, enjoying the burn and the feeling, at last, of something filling him. The taste was good too, nothing but the best Irish whiskey for Angel. He gasped after finishing it off and looked up at Angel, smiling. “I do a good jo…”

Angel shoved the towel into his mouth. Spike’s eyes widened and he flailed at the sudden assault, but Angel had a firm grip on his head and with manic determination was pushing every inch of the full-sized bath towel into him. Spike gagged and choked, feeling the terrycloth rough against his throat, his teeth groaning and cracking, and his neck straining against the invasion. Angel had one knee on the bed, pressing Spike down and forcing with all his might.

Spike immediately felt the need to vomit up the whiskey he’d just guzzled, and his stomach contracted. Fluid rushed up only to hit the towel now stuffed tight in him and he spasmed between trying to swallow and trying to expel. He felt buried and suffocated and drowning and blood ran in his mouth and nose. He heard his own high-pitched whine, trying to shout.

Angel just held him down, breathing heavily through his nose, his knee on Spike’s chest, one hand on his throat, the other over his mouth, still pressing down. Spike struggled until he just couldn’t anymore, his stomach gave up, and then he did, trying to quiet his limbs and lie there, hoping his eyes could plead enough for him.

“Are you finished fighting your punishment, William?” Against everything, Spike managed a small nod. “Good. Now remember, only bad boys spit up.” Then Angel pulled the towel roughly out of him, so fast Spike felt his throat ripped up with it.

He gagged, and threw a hand over his own mouth to keep the whiskey inside as it rushed up against his teeth. He swallowed raggedly, making helpless gagging noises.

He heard Angel throw the towel down with a wet smack. “Look how filthy your mouth was. About time we cleaned it out. So, William, are you sorry you cursed at your daddy?”

Unable to take his hand off his mouth, Spike looked murderously at Angel, but nodded.

“Good,” Angel approached the bed, rubbing his dick through the front of his jeans. “Because Daddy’s a little too excited to spank you right now, William, and I don’t think you’re ready for your medicine yet, so why don’t you get on your hands and knees so Daddy can fuck you?”

Spike stayed where he was, on one elbow, holding his mouth, shaking with anger.

Angel tisked. “Are you still a bad boy, William? Bad boys don’t get lube, you know.” He grabbed Spike’s wrist, jerking his hand away from his mouth. “Bad boys might get grounded for a whole month, chained face-down on the bed with a very large gag in their filthy mouths. Tell me, my boy, do you want that?” Angel waited with seeming patience. “Tell me.”

His throat burned as he swallowed, raw and torn. He almost coughed the word out. “No.”

Angel smacked him, the impact rang against his loose teeth. “No, who?”

“No, Daddy.”

“Good boy.” He pushed Spike back. “Hands and knees,” he said, and unfastened his belt.

Spike shook with anger as he turned and put his fists on the mattress in front of him. His head was swimming now, black specks encroaching on his vision from the rough treatment, hunger, and alcohol. He braced his forehead on his wrists, hoping the room would stop moving. Angel’s hands were on him, pulling his hips up, pushing his legs apart. He felt the wool of his trousers against his bare flesh and one thick thumb tapping at his entrance like knocking on a door. And then his cock head was there, pushing forward insistently while Angel’s hands dug hard into Spike’s hips, drawing him back.

Apparently, he wasn’t quite a good enough boy to get lube, after all.

“AH,” Angel sighed in pleasure. “Just what Daddy needed. Good boys like getting fucked by their daddies. Are you a good boy, William?” He pulled out and thrust hard. “Huh?”

“Yes,” Spike said.

“Uh-uh, yes, what?” Angel thrust hard again, enjoying the use of cock for punctuation.

“Yes, Daddy,” Spike said, his lips thick and bloody against his forearm.

“Tell me, ugh, tell me how much. You like. Getting fucked. By Daddy.”

Spike held his head to keep it from spinning and didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. Angel filled in his own monologue. “You love it. It’s what you live for. Your purpose in life. Just a hole to be fucked. A pretty hole. Aren’t you, boy? Uhn, how you like that. You want more. You want Daddy to fuck you every day.”

Angel talked himself to completion with hard, punishing strokes that shook the bed and rocked Spike’s head against his fists. When he was done he made Spike turn around, kiss his limp, wet cock and thank him for fucking him.

Swearing, apparently, wasn’t bad if you were repeating what Daddy said.

Then he laid stretched across Angel’s knees while Angel spanked him, bare-handed at first and then with his belt, until Spike was crying despite himself. He was good at taking torture, at resisting pain, but the humiliation of it all drove the tears unbidden out of his eyes and he felt all the more like a child, struggling to hold them back, to escape the heavy hand at the small of his back, holding him in place.

Angel, of course, was getting hard again with each shift and struggle. He paused once or twice to run his hand over Spike’s back and thighs, shushing him and whispering appreciative comments. “Would you look at that sweet tush? It’s so red now, William, like a pair of beautiful cherries. Oh, don’t cry, lad, I know you’re sorry. I know.” He licked his finger and ran it over the abused flesh, leaving a path of cool and sting. “Oh, is this blood? Tsk. Daddy was so hard on you.” He dipped his finger between his ass-cheeks and rubbed the blood into the small of his back. “Almost done now.”

And then he set in with the buckle end of the belt, leaning forward, putting everything he had into it, nearly pushing Spike off his lap and grabbing him and dragging him back again. Angel’s cock was hard as a rock now, jutting hard into Spike’s stomach as he was pushed back and forth against it.

“Ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred!” Angel threw the belt down and grabbed Spike, dumping him onto the floor.

Almost before he realized what was going on, Spike was on his knees again, Angel’s cock pressing against his battered lips. He tried to shake his head, but those hands were in place, holding him firm. “Open wide for Daddy and take your medicine like a good little slut.”

A thumb dug into the corner of his mouth and Spike opened. His throat felt tight from tears and the nausea returned unbidden, the whiskey in his gut sloshing forward for escape. But there was no stopping Angel, and nothing to do but submit. He closed his eyes, tried to relax without reflux, and let Angel use his throat as brutally as he had his ass.

On the ground, on his knees, beaten and exhausted and oh, so hungry, he felt awash with shame, every inch just a hole to be used, flesh to be abused by the hands that held him down.

Angel gripped Spike’s hair, pushing his head back as he came, his other hand on his dick, aiming to spread his spendings over as much of his face as he could.

“There, there,” he said, thumb traveling through spunk to trace Spike’s lips. “Now that mouth is good and clean. Keep it that way, baby.” And he leaned down, pushing his tongue between Spike’s lips.

Angel’s hand on the back of his head was just about the only thing holding him up. Angel pulled him up into his lap. “Okay, baby?”

“Can I eat now?”

“No, baby, you were bad. You’re going to bed without supper. But Daddy will have a big breakfast for you when you wake up.”

Spike let his head fall against Angel’s shoulder, ashamed to be taking comfort in the big hands now stroking his back gently – the same hands that had brutalized him. “How long do I have to be a very small boy, Daddy?”

“Until Daddy says you’re all grown up,” Angel said, and kissed his sweat-matted hair. “Come on, time for bed.”

Angel laid Spike down and arranged his limbs – moving his ankle so the chain didn’t lay across his flesh. Then he pulled the comforter up over him and tucked it around his frame. “Go to sleep.” He kissed Spike’s forehead.

“Angelus, wait,” Spike grabbed Angel’s hand as he started to stand to leave.

“It’s Daddy, William.”

“When will the chain come off? Just tell me.”

Angel knelt by the bed, took Spike’s hand off of his and tucked it under the covers. “When you tell me you’re sorry. When you say it’s your fault and you deserved your punishment. And when you aren’t lying when you say those things.”

“I know I deserve this,” Spike said. “This and worse. I mean it, Angelus. I’m so scared right now. Don’t leave me here, like this. I’m afraid you’ll kill me.”

Angel’s expression softened. He leaned forward and kissed Spike again. “It’s only a nap, William. Daddy’s going back to work for another few hours, but I’ll be back for dinner. Why don’t we take you to confession then? If you’re a good lad and repent all your sins, there’ll be a nice big meal for you.”

Spike turned his face into the pillow and felt another kiss on his cheek.


	22. Tests

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG! PLOT!
> 
> Warnings: Woah, um, there's, like, some mindgames, but after the last two chapters, do you really need warnings for that?

Spike knew everyone was staring at him when he walked into the meeting room, though he was careful not to make much noise, having hoped he could sneak in unnoticed.

Gunn had to pick his jaw up from the table. “Spike. Uh, hey man. Feeling better?”

“Yeah, thanks,” he said, and found an empty chair near the end of the table.

Angel shot him a knowing look and smile as he winced just before sitting down. “Let’s get this meeting underway,” he said, raising his agenda. “As everyone can see, Spike has recovered from his illness and will be rejoining us in his capacity as, uh, well, muscle. And assisting Wesley.” Angel nodded to Wes.

“I suppose that’s my cue,” Wesley said, folding his hands over his documents. He tore his eyes away from staring at Spike and concentrated on Angel. “Illyria seems much recovered from her, well, melancholy for lack of a less emotional word, over the power-drain. Spike,” here Wesley paused and looked over at Spike a lot longer than necessary before returning his eyes to Angel, “had agreed to test her abilities before, but for obvious reasons, with his illness, that was left undone. We really ought to assign someone else the task. I was hoping to stick with a non-human employee, for safety’s sake, but there are surprisingly few vampires in the technical staff.”

“I’ll do it,” Spike said, very quietly. All heads turned to him. “No, really, I can still do it.”

“Are you sure you’re up to full strength?” Gunn asked. “I don’t know about vampire illnesses, but you were out two whole weeks.”

“Yes, I’m rather curious about that myself,” Wesley said. “I’ve only known of three ‘illnesses’ that can infect the undead, and two of those are not illnesses at all…”

“Spike’s fine,” Angel said. He looked down the table. “Spike, you feel you can do this job?”

“I just want to feel useful,” he said, and glanced furtively at Angel. “If it’s all right.”

Only Angel and Spike seemed to miss the shocked expressions around the table at Spike’s quiet, placating words. “Then do it. Moving on? Gunn? How go negotiations with the Fell?”

Gunn blinked and fumbled with his papers as though just remembering he was in a meeting.

***

Lorne stepped into Spike’s path as he made to exit the meeting quickly. “Just a moment, sugar pop.”

At the other end of the table, Angel glanced up. Casually, he said, “Spike? Meet me in my office?”

“Yeah, sure,” Spike said. “Uh, cavebrow.” He shifted his weight. “Sorry, Lorne. Boss-man wants a word.”

“Not so fast.” Lorne put his hand flat on Spike’s chest. “As a seer it’s my curse and duty to point out the obvious. Something is up with you, lemon drop, and it isn’t a bout of the flu. You’re just going to have to tell me what it is, because I’m very irritating when I get it in my head someone’s keeping secrets from me. Plus, you know, I read auras, and yours could make the best-sellers list.”

Spike glanced back at Angel, who was taking his time about gathering his papers at the head of the conference table.

“It’s nothing, Greenjeans. Just a little out of sorts, attending boring meetings and whatnot after half a month in bed.”

Lorne’s expression showed his clear lack of belief, but he removed his hand from holding Spike back. “By the by? I’m not one to criticize someone around here finally bucking the ‘vampires must wear black’ stereotype, but those pants are tan, honeykin, I’m informing you because you must not have noticed when you put them on. NOT good for your coloring.”

“Talk to Angel about it, he picked ‘em out,” Spike said, and shouldered his way past the green demon at last.

***

Spike found himself shaking as he closed Angel’s office door behind him and let out a long-held breath. Fuck. What was wrong with him?

The door opened behind him and he quickly turned to see Angel standing there, looking at him with concern.

“Only called you ‘cavebrow’ so things would feel normal. They expect me to insult you.”

“Sh.” Angel ran his hands over Spike’s arms. “Shush, baby, it’s okay.”

“They know, Angel. If I can’t act like myself…”

“Shush.” Angel leaned forward and kissed his forehead. “You did fine. And everything is going to be fine. You’re a big boy now and I trust you. You have your cell phone?” Spike nodded. “And it’s all charged up?” Another nod. “What are the rules?”

Spike felt a shiver made of equal parts rage and fear travel down his spine. He clenched his jaw and forced the words out. “Answer. Come when you call. No leaving this floor.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you; I just want to keep you safe.” Angel shifted close, rubbing his groin against Spike. “It’s going to be so good, baby, having you here, at work with me. No more waiting through the day.”

Spike felt the slight pressure on his shoulders and sank to his knees. His cheek was wet; he felt it because of the rough wool rubbing against it from Angel’s pants. “I’m a mess,” Spike said. “Can’t do this.”

“Sh. Baby, of course you can.” Angel took Spike’s hand and guided it to his zipper. “You’re a good boy, now. Such a good boy. Ah!” Angel moved his hand to the back of Spike’s head, clutching hard. “Oh, not so fast, baby, take your time. Ah, yes, like that.”

Spike had hoped for a mercifully quick session, engulfing Angel’s cock, but now he moved off, reluctantly, licking and teasing the head while Angel’s hand moved up and down through his hair, grasping and releasing in a rough parody of love.

“And don’t forget, baby, I can’t be held responsible for what I’d do if you make me angry. So glad you’re being good. I don’t like myself, Spike, when you make me like that. I don’t like the things you make me do.”

***

Spike stopped in the hallway, eyes moving from the security cameras to the faces around him. Harmony half-stood behind her partition, frowning at him. He turned away from her and started walking with purpose down the hallway.

Wes was in his office, alone, which was good. Spike closed the door behind him. “Hey, Percy. Got a minute to talk about big blue?”

“Not right now,” Wes said, frowning at the books spread in front of him. “I’m working on a problem that’s quite disturbing. Illyria claims that some of Fred’s memories were altered, and I’m finding evidence…”

Spike dashed forward. “Really, eh? Let me look at that.” He leaned over Wesley’s shoulder and, as the man started shifting away grabbed him to hold him close.

He’d been weak so long he was surprised to find his strength was still enough to stop a human. “I wasn’t sick,” he said, as quietly as he could, eyes on the book-pages before him.

“Spike, you’re hurting my arm. What do you mean you weren’t sick?”

Spike stepped back, rolling his eyes and gesturing to the silent heavens. “A man whispers for a reason, Wes.”

Wesley squinted at him. “Are you afraid we’re being watched?”

“God fucking Christ, I came here because you’re the smart one. The heavens weep.”

Wesley closed his book and leaned back in his chair. He raised a brow. “I’ve cast several spells on this office to prevent anyone looking in. Even Angel. So you can stop the dramatics and just say what you came to say.”

Spike immediately turned and planted his hands on the edge of Wesley’s desk. “Thank Christ. Scratch that last bit about you bein’ thick. I wasn’t sick. Angel’s lost his bleedin’ mind. He’s had me locked up for two weeks and I don’t know how long I have before he snaps his fingers again and expects me to come running. You have to help him. The bastard needs some kind of therapy before he takes me off the deep end with him, and let me tell you, mate, it’s not that far a jump from where I’m standing.”

Wesley stared, taking in the verbal assault without so much as a blink. After a pause, he said, “You should leave.”

Spike felt a brief stab of rejection. “Thank fuck you’re here to tell me these things, Wes. I wouldn’t have thought of that. I can’t leave. He’ll just find someone else to hurt. Someone less repairable than me.” He paced. “An’ less deserving.”

Wesley stood, frowning deeply. “You really think he would hurt someone? Someone innocent?”

“He’s said as much himself. I honestly don’t know what to do, Wes. There’s a part of me still loves the scary old cunt, and it is my fault. I let it get this far, I know. But I can’t…” Spike’s cell phone rang. “Fuck,” he said, softly. He pulled it out. “Hello? Wes’ office. Yeah. I swear, Angel. Uh, I don’t know. Maybe there’s no camera? You want to talk with him?”

Wes stared in shock as Spike held out his phone toward him, making a series of pleading and insistent expressions. Wesley took the cell phone with as much dignity as he could muster. “Wyndham-Price.”

“Wes. Angel. Did you know there’s no security feed on your office?”

Wes gave Spike’s anxious facial contortions a pointed glare and slight head shake. “Yes, I’m aware of that. I had it disabled some time ago. One can’t be too cautious.”

“Re-enable them. What are you and Spike talking about?”

“Oh, just Illyria. Working out a testing paradigm. Why do you ask?”

“He isn’t bothering you, is he?”

“Not at present. If you don’t mind, Angel, we still have a few more matters to discuss and I have other assignments I’d like to be working on.”

Spike stopped his anxious pacing to gape at Wes.

There was a slight pause. “All right,” Angel said. “Just send Spike back to me when you’re done with him, okay?”

“Certainly,” Wesley said, and folded the phone closed. He looked at Spike thoughtfully. “This is troubling.”

“’Troubling’, he says. Pouf wants me back, doesn’t he? Already. Fucking hell, is he ever making up for lost time. My arse is about worn away.”

Wesley grimaced. “I’ll investigate and find out what I can about Angel’s, er, state. Don’t come to me looking for updates. I’ll contact you. We don’t want to arouse suspicion.”

Spike nodded. “Right. Okay.”

“And, since we ought to have been talking about this for several minutes, I’ll go ahead and schedule you to use the training room with Illyria this afternoon. Three o’clock sound good?”

“Good. See if you can find out anything about Lindsey, while you’re at it. Maybe tell Smurfette and have her tell me.”

“I hardly think Illyria is quite ready to be a confidante… Lindsey? What about Lindsey?”

“Angel said he did something to him, Wes. Something he wasn’t proud of. I just want to know, all right?”

“Why don’t you just check…?” Wesley saw Spike giving him an expression that said clearly he was the thickest piece of wood ever to ask a stupid question. “Right. Angel’s watching you. Well, I’ll find out his status. Shouldn’t be too hard.”

“Thanks, Wes. I got a feeling I’m going to end up owing you my life.”

“Let’s hope that’s not the case,” Wesley said. “You’d better go.”

Suddenly, Spike didn’t want to be anywhere that wasn’t Wesley’s office. It felt safe, here. But he nodded and stepped out into the hall. With leaden limbs he walked back to Angel’s office.

“I don’t like you alone with other men when I can’t see you,” Angel said, simply, as soon as Spike entered. “No going into any room alone with any other man, is that clear?”

“We were only talking, and it was only five minutes.”

“Spike,” Angel warned, stepping out from behind his desk.

Spike balled his fists and kept himself from instinctively stepping back. “You don’t have to be jealous of bloody Wes.”

“Don’t I? The last time you were roaming free you went straight to the not-so-loving arms of Lindsey McDonald.” Angel stroked Spike’s cheek. “So when you run off to be alone in a room with someone, I have to wonder if you’re on your knees again like a little whore.”

Spike bit back his own protest. It wouldn’t help, to fight. “No being alone with anyone but you – right,” he said. He forced himself to meet Angel’s eyes. “Won’t happen again.”

Angel kissed him. “I love you so much,” he said. “But I got used to knowing you were always safe these past few weeks – knowing you were protected from those who would use you.”

“I still am,” Spike said.

Angel cupped his face in his hands, stroking his hair back affectionately. “No, Spike. Wes is a smart guy, and you’re really not. He’d have you on your back before you knew it.”

“Wes doesn’t fancy me.”

“I don’t believe it. Who wouldn’t want you? And he’s grieving, Spike. He’s lonely and he’s mourning.”

You mean like you were when we started shagging, Spike thought, but didn’t say. He bit his lip. “Is the only way you can trust me if I spend all day in the apartment? You want me to go up there, now?”

A warm smile bloomed over Angel’s features. “Oh, baby, you’re too good.” He wrapped his arms tight around Spike, pulling him into a hard hug. “Tell me you love me.”

“I love you, Angel.” Spike nuzzled his face into the cool, familiar neck. “I do. An’ I’ll never leave you.”

***

Illyria sat straight-backed like an Egyptian idol, only her eyes moving as Spike entered the room.

“Hello, Blue,” Spike said, waving a clipboard. “Good news. You’re the one entity in the building Angel doesn’t think is trying to shag me.”

“I am uninterested in your mating problems. I consent to these tests only to relieve the tedium that my existence has become, surrounded by insects who have the self-importance to speak to me.”

“And with an attitude like that, I’m amazed your dance card isn’t full.” Spike flipped the top sheet on the clipboard and frowned at the text written there. “Well, Wes has this long list of questions and empirical methods he wants me to follow and blah blah blah. I want to hit something.” He threw the clipboard across the room. “Come on, Blue. Show me what you have.” He raised his fists.

Illyria tilted her head. “I have nothing. My armies are dust and my civilization itself has fallen into ruin beyond even the insignificance of your history.”

“Right then, I want to fight, Leery. Come on, give it me good. I’ve got a week full of frustrations to work out and hey look! Healing ability is on the checklist to test.” He pointed mockingly to the clipboard.

Illyria stood, slowly. “Wesley informed me that you would test me. I find I doubt a half-breed could bring much challenge, even in my weakened state. But I will humor you, for this will only take a moment.”

Spike smiled, open mouthed. “That’s more like it.”

Illyria punched lazily, which he easily avoided, and he jabbed at her, dancing out of reach as she turned. “Come on. Is that all you have? Some god-king you turned out to be.”

With a rush, she threw him against the wall. He landed on his clipboard, which cracked. He flipped back to his feet and laughed.

Three times Illyria managed to send him flying, and three times he stood and came back.

The fourth time Illyria had almost a smile on her face. “You break so easily; why do you bother getting back up?”

“I’m just getting started,” Spike said, shook his head, and charged.

Spike landed many blows, but they seemed not to phase the god-king. A punch to the nose didn’t alter her wide-eyed expression. Only one kick managed to make her move at all, as she stumbled slightly with the impact. Spike didn’t mind. He wanted to go all night. Though he had to start paying better attention to her reach, any chance she had to get a hold on him, he went flying.

That, and she had a killer kick to the face. He ducked under it when he could.

“You fight well. I can see why the half-breed Angel keeps you as his pet.”

“I’m not his pet.” Spike wiped blood from his lip with the back of his hand and came flying at Illyria with a high kick, which she blocked, but his fist was already coming in to her stomach at the same time. He growled as he felt bones compress against her near immovable body. She rolled his body with a casual turn of her arm and sent him into the wall again.

“I enjoy hurting you,” Illyria said. “You make interesting noises.”

“Great,” Spike said, taking a moment to breathe, this time, before rolling back onto his hands and knees and standing. “Welcome to the bloody club.”

***

It was going well. Angel looked over his day planner. Meetings done, cases checked into. Spike was with Illyria, just then, fighting, oddly enough, but he was enjoying the footage. He could admit, when he was on the receiving end, that his boy was a fine fighter, beautiful to watch.

And Angel could take some pride in that – after all, wasn’t he Spike’s first teacher?

He had two more meetings to get through, and then he could sign off on the day’s reports and retreat into another long, passionate night with his boy.

He knew Spike wasn’t completely comfortable with the way things had progressed, and yes, he had enough self-knowledge to be aware that some of it was plain psychotic. But that was behind them now. Angel saw a future for himself, a happy one, for the first time in years. He had Spike. Together, they would work toward a more equitable partnership. Spike was already learning to accept that Angel just knew better than him what was best. Soon he’d really believe it, and be the perfect partner.

And together they would fight evil, one case file at a time.

With a contented sigh, he closed the file he was working on, turned off the feed from the training room, and got together the briefs for his meeting. He stepped out into the hallway.

“Hey, Dad!’

Angel turned to see Connor, one arm raised. He jolted to a stop. “What? What are you doing…”

Connor cheerfully jogged past Angel to clasp hands with a middle-aged man. “Dad, they have dried scorpions in the vending machines! How weird is that?”


	23. Origin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings this chapter: Some off-screen Het! (Sorry slashy-fans, but sometimes the girls gotta get action for the plot!) Also I'm a tad bit melodramatic this chapter. Shades of twoo wub.

Spike propped his hands on his knees and drew a few wet, pained breaths. “Did Wes tell you anything, give you a message for me?”

Illyria paced. “I think your claim of a need to ‘catch your breath’ is false.”

“Just trying to have a conversation here, Bluebell. You haven’t answered a soddin’ one of my questions.”

She picked up the broken, battered clipboard, its torn and crinkled pages hanging like the wings of some dead bird. She held it in two fingers and regarded it with distaste. “You wish to gauge the affect your power-draining device has had on me? But you cannot. How could an insect gauge the difference between being stamped by a child or an adult? And yet I am weaker, and it vexes me.” She tossed the clipboard at Spike, who managed to catch it somewhat clumsily against his side. “Yet I can still enjoy power relative to one such as you.”

“There now, you’re opening up.”

“I do not wish to converse. I wish to continue hearing the noises you make as I hit you.”

“No more punching me in the face,” Spike said, shaking the clipboard at her as he straightened. “But yeah, I can go another few rounds.”

Illyria smiled like a kid getting ice cream. Spike marveled. “You like violence even more than I do.”

“Your obstinance is strangely pleasing,” Illyria said, turning without pause to kick him in the face.

Spike fell through the training room doors to sprawl in the hallway. “You filthy harlot! I said not the face!”

He scrambled back to his feet and charged back at her with renewed energy, not noticing Angel standing in the hall, leading a young man along. “Uh,” Angel said, and turned to Connor, whom he had been trying very, very hard not to touch. “Want to meet some of my co-workers?”

“Sure.”

They entered the training room in time to see Spike impact yet another wall, near the ceiling this time, he tumbled down to the floor.

Illyria turned to them with a pleased expression. “I wish to keep Spike as my pet.”

Angel stopped stock-still.

Spike performed a surprisingly boneless roll over his shoulder and got back to his feet. “Testing is going smoothly, Peaches. Just a few more bugs to work out. Who’s the whelp?”

Angel squinted at Spike, then looked back at Ilyria, looking like he could feel his mind shattering.

“I will negotiate with you for price,” Illyria said. “You will not mourn his absence for the richness I can offer.”

Angel cleared his throat. “Connor, uh, this is Spike, he’s a vampire, and this is Illyria, she’s, well, we’re not quite sure what she is.”

Connor approached Illyria with an expression of shy awe. “Hi. Um...I like your outfit.”

Illyria tilted her head, studying him. “Your body warms.” She turned to Angel. “This one is lusting after me.”

The boy stammered, “Oh... no, I- I- It's just that— it's the outfit.” He leaned toward Angel and whispered, “I guess I've always had a thing for older women.”

Angel muttered to himself, “They were supposed to fix that!” Quietly enough that only Spike could hear it. Spike frowned, worried what that could mean.

“So is it bring a teenager to work day, or what?” Spike sniffed back a little blood from his nose and tried to get a scent on the kid. What was so special about him that Angel was giving him a personal tour?

“Spike, can I talk to you in the hall for a minute?” Angel asked, scratching the side of his nose.

Spike’s stomach felt like a cold rock falling against his bowels. “Uh, sure,” he said, and followed Angel out into the hall. Before the door swung shut, he quickly and quietly said, “Angel, that ‘pet’ bollocks is just that, nothing happened betwixt the blue meanie and me, ‘less you count violence and if you’re gonna be jealous over other people hitting me you’re…”

Angel grabbed him by the throat and pulled him around a corner to press him into the wall. Breathing heavy, he leaned close. “I don’t have time to deal with your shit today, Spike.” He shook Spike by his throat, just once.

Spike swallowed against the pressure. “What the fuck did I do? Just testing Blue, trying to be…”

“Shut up.” Another lift and slam against the wall. Angel raised his hand, and Spike instinctively winced, which caused Angel’s lip to curl up ever so slightly. He dragged his thumb hard along Spike’s right cheek bone, up to the eye socket, where bruised flesh stung in protest. “What is this?”

“What?”

Angel pushed away from him, looking as though Spike had just deliberately damaged his property – keyed the viper, maybe. “You don’t work here, Spike. You don’t make money. The least you can do is keep yourself pretty for me.”

“What?”

“You tell Illyria you’re done and you go back to the apartment. I have more important things to do.” He then spun on his heel, not looking back, and went back into the training room, emerging a short time later with a pointed glare and the seemingly ordinary teen in tow.

***

Harmony hurried him into the staff lounge and then brought her large shoulder-bag to the table with a proud gleam in her eye. “I am, like, SO glad you asked my help.” She dumped a mountain of cosmetics onto the table.

“Jesus, Harm. I don’t need a whole new face.”

“I know what I’m doing. Don’t I make my face gorgeous without any mirror at all?” She raised an, admittedly, perfectly sculpted eyebrow.

“Fine. I’m in your hands,” Spike sighed, laying his hands wrists-up on the table.

Harmony arranged her weapons for battle and packed away the ones not needed. “You will love this concealer.” She waved a beige stick like she was planning to attack with it. Or parry. “Our skin tone is close, and this thing covers up fresh neck-bites so it’s bound to work on that shiner.”

“Been snacking, have we?”

“Oh no you don’t. Not in months. Now hold still or this will look really stupid.” She leaned forward and took hold of his chin.

“Really doubt there’s any danger of it not looking stupid,” he said.

She made a little puffy noise and continued to administer to his sore flesh with clinical efficiency. “It’s not my fault you keep getting your face beaten in. If I looked at half the tapes Bossy has me forward him from security…”

Spike pulled back from her. “Harm? You handle that?”

She rolled her eyes. “I handle everything. Angel couldn’t tie his shoes without me.”

“He wears loafers.”

“If he had shoes to tie! Now hold still; you’re blotchy.” She put down the concealer stick and reached for powder.

Spike ducked his head out of the way of the advancing blush-brush. “Wait, wait. Harm? If I asked you, could you, you know, keep Himself from seeing a tape? Could you cover for me?”

She blinked. “Go behind the boss’ back?”

“Chances are he’ll never even notice. He’s been out all day on some secret mission with that Connor kid. I just want to check someone’s all right. Won’t take twenty minutes.”

She touched her powder brush briefly to her chin in thought. “What’s in it for me?”

“Have a bleedin’ heart! I’m not asking you to do anything – just to NOT do something. Keep him from finding out where I was, IF he asks.”

“Hello? I’m not an altruist. And I think I’m doing very well, thank you very much, on doing good, considering I don’t have a soul and all.”

Spike had to, reluctantly, agree. “All right, what do you want?”

“Sex,” she said, without pause.

Spike jumped back, toppling his chair. “Are you out of your powdered little mind? He’ll kill you.”

“Only if he finds out!” Harmony balled her fists on her hips.

“Not anything else I could interest you in? Uh… my record collection? Gameboy?”

“You don’t have anything else I’m interested in. Duh. Men.”

Spike regarded her carefully, and realized that behind that vapid face and well-coiffed hair, was the most powerful ally he could hope for in avoiding Angel’s wrath. Someone who could, without anyone else’s help, keep information from Angel. He swallowed a dry mouthful. “Yeah, all right.”

“And I want it my way: doggie-style, oral after, no kissing.”

“Harm!”

“No arguments! I’m a liberated woman and I deserve some consideration! Unlike sometimes, when a certain ex of mine used me to play up his fantasies about another woman!” She raised her chin at him.

Spike grimaced. “Yeah. Okay, fine. Your way.”

“Good. Now, let me finish highlighting your cheekbone. You look worse than that skanky ho on last month’s Cosmo.” She advanced, brush high, and Spike righted his chair, sinking into it and submitting himself to her cosmetic ministrations while he tried to decide if there really was such a thing as karma, or if all this payback was of his own making.

***

According to Harmony, Angel had gone to visit some wizard named Vail, who lived in the hills. Even if all he did was knock on the door and ask for a cup of sugar, it would take him two hours to get there and back.

Spike had wasted one hour with Harmony. He hadn’t expected to take that long, considering his past encounters with her; Spike took pride in his lovemaking, even when he didn’t care for his partner, so he had a good working knowledge of bringing Harm off fast from days when he just wanted the bint quiet so he could get back to his evil schemes or catch the last act of Passions.

The soul, god, it made some things hard.

He went to the labs to use the decontamination showers. There was a chemical spray they had which sped things up, smell-removal-wise. It felt like needles on his skin, but that wasn’t unwelcome. He checked the wall-clock as he pulled his clothes on over his wet skin. He had forty-five minutes still.

Lindsey was still in the medical wing, but moved to a secured room with shatterproof windows laced in hexagons of wire.

Spike ran his fingers through his hair, wondering what he looked like with a shiner on his eye and a sticky residue left from the decontamination shower – his hair felt like straw. He slipped past the guards and medical workers, ducking into corners and generally sneaking his way to the door with the correct number on it. He jimmied the lock.

Lindsey was sitting by the room’s window, an ignored magazine on his lap. He was in a light blue hospital gown decorated with little green diamonds and his right arm was in a cast resting on the windowsill. A crescent-shaped bruise on his left cheek was darkened to the dull red of near-healing, but otherwise, he looked healthy.

“Well,” said Spike, “you got a view. Beats the holding cell, don’t it?”

Lindsey jumped up, the magazine sliding out of his lap. He banged his plastered elbow and winced, nearly falling. Spike jumped forward to try and catch him and he flailed, stumbling back, nearly crawling over his chair in his haste to get away. “Ah! Get the fuck out of here!”

Spike stopped. A dark look crossed his face. “Right,” he said, and stepped back, hands raised. “Just wanted to see if you were in one piece. Angel… he told me he’d done stuff to you.”

“Why the fuck do you think I gave you the brush-off, Spike? Jesus, are you stupid? He’s going to do whatever the hell he wants to me, again, because you and I are in the same room. Thanks, Spike. Thanks a lot.”

Lindsey adjusted the paper-like hospital gown around his sling and looked toward the wall, sighing.

Spike blinked. “I’m a bleedin’ pillock, aren’t I?”

“What does that mean? Speak American, cowboy.” Lindsey ran his good hand through his hair and sat on the edge of the bed.

“That – what you said – it was just to get rid of me. Because of Angel.”

He looked up, smiling mirthlessly. “Bravo, champ. Well,” he stood again. “Considering that I’m going to get raped and beaten just for talking to you,” he sauntered up to Spike. Head down, he looked through hanging bangs. “Why don’t we make this worth it?”

Spike took a step back just before Lindsey’s hand touched him. “Wait. You don’t have to risk yourself. Harm – Harmony, I got her on my side, at least temporarily. She’s going to destroy the footage, make sure Angel doesn’t ever find out about this.”

Lindsey’s face immediately switched from seductive to calculating. “Are you sure you can trust her?”

“No. But the tape has her name on it now, don’t it?”

He paced a bit. “Wait, Spike, how did you get in here? Can you get me out?”

“There’s not much time. Angel could return,” Spike glanced at the bedside clock, “in as soon as thirty minutes. I have to be in his room when he does. But if Harm keeps her word, and I think she will, then we can do this again. I’ll arrange it. We’ll get you out of here.”

Lindsey stopped his pacing. “Not that I’m offering to stay here, because romantic as that shit is, there’s no way it would benefit either of us to keep me here where Angel can use me as a threat against you and vice-versa – but what about you? I leave, what will you do?”

“I have to stay. I have to figure out what’s wrong with Angel, and fix him. I owe it to him.”

Lindsey shook his head disbelievingly. “You’re one loyal bastard. I don’t think it’s fixable, Spike. He’s just an asshole.”

Spike held his arms around himself. “What did he do to you?”

“Nothing he ain’t done before.”

They were silent, together; the only sound in the room the muffled beeps and scuffling shoes in surrounding rooms and the hallway. Spike shifted his feet. Looking at the ground, he said, “We touch, you know, he can smell it. I could try an’ take another shower, but it’s a risk.”

Spike felt Lindsey’s finger, then, gently on his chin. He looked up to see him smiling – the wide-open prairie smile that seemed to carry sunshine and wind with it.

“It’s okay,” he said. “This? This alone is worth it.” And his lips pressed gently to Spike’s.

***

Spike stayed as long as he dared, until there were only five minutes left on his self-imposed time-limit. All he and Lindsey did was stare at each other, touch fingertips so lightly, and exchange the most chaste kiss, but it had been worth it, and neither one had wanted to end it.

Spike ran all the way to Angel’s apartment and only relaxed when he found it still empty. Execution postponed once again, he went straight to the shower.

His clothes he balled up and shoved into the bottom of the laundry hamper, lest they carry some scent of their own. He turned the water on full blast and scrubbed with the strongest-smelling soap in Angel’s considerable bath product arsenal.

He felt over his face, wishing he knew how he looked, if Angel would be mad. He let cold water run over his face until even his undead body was chilled, to bring down any swelling.

He dried himself and stood before the bathroom mirror a long time, considering. Then he opened the cabinet and got out the lube.

Prepping himself, standing cold and alone in the bathroom, made him feel even more a whore than going down on Harmony in the copier room.

He laid himself on the bed and waited. Clean, naked, prepared. An offering.

Even now, hating this with every pore of his being, it made him a little hard, being at Angel’s mercy.

He was dozing when the elevator dinged. He immediately woke and sat up. Angel made his way across the living area slowly, his shoulders slumped. He dropped his jacket on the couch and stood there, in the divide between the rooms, looking at Spike.

Spike crawled back against the pillows. “Is this – you want me to go?”

Angel continued toward the bed, shedding his clothing tiredly. He crawled over the baseboard and up between Spike’s legs.

“Long day,” Angel said. He laid his weight over Spike, his head against Spike’s chest. “Daddy’s had a long day. Heh. ‘Daddy.’” He shook his head ever so slightly, lips pressing briefly to Spike’s skin. And then he was still. But not asleep. Spike could sense his wakefulness, and the occasional blink of eyelashes against his collarbone.

Spike ran his hand through Angel’s hair and kissed his forehead. “Want me to make it better?”

Angel stirred. “You already do,” he said.

There was awkward shifting, hands getting in each other’s way as they both tried to arrange themselves. Angel pushed into Spike with his eyes closed. He wrapped his arms around his shoulders and rested his head beside him, on the pillow, and started, slowly, to fuck.

Spike stared at the ceiling. It was nice. Gentle, even, like waves lapping at him. He didn’t have to think of it as sex, anymore. It was just this thing that was done to his body on a daily basis. He lifted his hips into the thrusts more to get his back comfortable under the weight of Angel than anything else.

There were tears on Angel’s cheek, strangely – the salt scent hit Spike without warning, and he turned to see them glinting in the low light. Angel’s eyes were still squeezed shut.

He raised up on his elbows and thrust harder, faster, chasing his completion. Spike brought his legs up and Angel took his knees rather like one would take a proffered napkin at the dinner table. He put them on his shoulders and leaned forward, pressing fast, and shallow now, grunting and shaking with effort.

Angel collapsed as he came, and sighed in Spike’s ear, “Connor.”


	24. Brothers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More plot than you can shake a stick at! What has Wes been up to while Angel freaks out over Connor?
> 
> Warnings: leads to some promise of non-con violent oh no wrongness. Vague hints of incest-thoughts.

“Spike, could you meet with me in my office?”

Spike looked up from his place on Angel’s couch with fear in his eyes. Wesley stood calmly in the doorway, hands clasped, not looking at Angel, who was at his desk. Spike looked at Angel. “Uh… that is, will anyone else be there?”

Angel lifted and dropped a piece of paper. He regarded Wes levelly. “I don’t want Spike on the Illyria case anymore,” Angel said. “She’s become attached to him, it’s no longer an objective test.”

“I think that’s my case to judge,” Wesley said, quietly. He was still not looking at Angel.

Spike didn’t know what to do. He sat, literally, on the edge of his seat, waiting for a sign from Angel that he could go.

Angel said, casually, “Did you get the security feed in your office fixed?”

“We’ll meet in Gunn’s office,” Wes said. “If you prefer. I’ll want his feedback on who to choose to take Spike’s place.”

“You. Want to meet with Gunn.”

Spike wanted to smack Wes. Talk about tipping their hand!

But Wesley just turned to Angel, expression unchanged. “As you might imagine, I’ve more acceptance, after yesterday’s events, for Charles doing what he felt he had to at the time.”

There was a long, unbroken stare between Wes and Angel that Spike couldn’t interpret and didn’t want to. He was just glad to be on the other side of the room.

And then, without signal, there was a break. Angel glanced at Spike and nodded. “Okay, you can go.”

Spike wondered that no one found it odd for him to be granted permission like a child, but he nodded to Angel, sure his worried expression hid any relief, and followed Wes. “You really want to meet in Gunn’s office? I mean, is that…”

“Why should it matter where we meet?” Wesley gave him a blank expression that made him feel like an idiot.

Gunn was waiting for them, sat on the corner of his desk tossing a toy basketball from hand to hand, squeezing its foam hard. “How do we do this?” he asked.

Wesley waved Spike ahead of him and closed the door. “It’s already set,” Wesley said, in a gentler voice. “The cameras will show the three of us having the world’s dullest conversation about Illyria.”

Spike looked up immediately at the security camera in the ceiling. “Well, bugger me! Good job, head boy!”

Wesley stepped right past Gunn and pulled a book out of his top drawer. “In exactly twenty minutes, Spike, you have to leave here to match the tape. Gunn, I’ll leave four minutes after him and you will follow me a half-step behind. Just watch me for your cues. Spike, has Angel said anything to you about Connor?”

Spike exchanged a glance with Gunn, both of them feeling caught in the wake of Wesley’s forward charge. “Uh… not really. He mentioned him. Who the fuck is this kid? This isn’t like ‘Omen’, is it?”

“Hardly. Connor is Angel’s son.”

“Son? What? No, that’s bloody impossible. I…”

Gunn shook his head slowly. “You don’t know the half of it. Wes and me, everyone, had Connor erased from their memories. It was Angel. He sold our minds.” Gunn’s brow creased and he looked away.

Wesley whispered into the spine of his book – a creepy action to witness, though Spike was now familiar with the magic books. It was just the mixture of hate and excitement on Wes’s face that made him fear for the former watcher.

“This is the symbol of the Black Thorn Circle. They represent the Senior Partners here on Earth.”

“Wait. How could Angel have a son? He’s a vampire. Kid’s in his teens. Can’t have been before he met Buffy…”

“Angel and Darla conceived a son. We don’t know how, but obviously, there was magic involved. That is all you need to know. Now, the Black Thorn Circle. According to Lindsey McDonald…”

“You talked to Lindsey?”

Wesley gave Spike a withering glare not unlike one of his least-favorite schoolmasters. “We don’t have very long, so please pay attention and be quiet. Angel appears to be looking for entrance into the circle. One price of admittance is to sacrifice someone near to you. Normally, I would assume Angel had some plan, some higher reason for all of this, but given his recent behavior, I believe he very much means to join the Senior Partners and embrace a dark destiny. We have to stop him.“

“You know I’m with you,” Gunn said, “But what the hell can we do? He’s Angel. I mean, unless he isn’t? Anyone check to see if that soul’s gone missing.”

“It’s still there,” Spike said, grimly. “I… once you know what to look for, you can see it.”

“Indeed. Also, I cast a spell to reveal its presence. Angel still has his soul. I’ve also been running every detection spell I can to see if some other presence is affecting him, a compulsion or thrall. I’ve found nothing so far. This isn’t a problem we can simply fix with magic. Gunn, I want you to get Lorne in on this. Try to meet with him someplace public, a bar or club, where surveillance will be harder. Also I want you to start digging through the legal files –try to see if Angel has any outstanding contracts. He could still be compelled by non-magical means. I’ll keep digging into the Black Thorn Circle. Perhaps we can cut Angel off from them, or infiltrate them ourselves.”

Gunn nodded, plans forming in his thoughtful expression.

“Wait,” said Spike, “What do I do?”

Wes grimaced. “I’m sorry to ask this, but it is crucial that Angel be distracted, kept busy so his plans slow down while we learn of them.”

Spike’s shoulders fell in defeat. “You mean you want me to fuck him.”

“Hey!” Gunn winced. “He didn’t mean that.”

“Hardly,” Wes said, smirking at Gunn’s exaggerated expression of pain. “I want you to occupy his mind. Keep him focused on you. I’m sure you have your methods and Charles and I don’t need to hear them.”

“Just stay with him,” Gunn said. “You have a better shot than any of us to see if he’s contacting these people.”

Spike considered methods of increasing the amount of time Angel spent focused on him. None were appealing. But he nodded. “Yeah, okay. I’ll see what I can do.”

Wesley gathered up his book and whispered into the spine again. When he laid it back on the desk it showed the now-familiar portrait of Illyria in her true form. “I don’t have to tell you both that we must be extremely delicate in this. Angel is still our friend. A man I myself owe much to and need forgiveness from. If anything, this is all my fault, for taking Connor in the first place.” He said all this while gazing at the picture of the god-king with agonized thoughtfulness. He raised his head. “We need a sign, a way to pass information confidentially. It has to be in the public areas of the law office. Spike cannot leave the building.”

“We could break one of Harmony’s unicorns?” Gunn suggested.

Wes made a tiny smile, but Spike shook his head. “No. Harm’s sort of on our side. She said she’d hide things from the boss for me, anyway.”

“That’s good news.” Wes nodded. “Very well, let’s keep it simple. If you need to speak to me immediately, leave a Styrofoam coffee cup on Harmony’s desk. I’ll seek you out.”

They nodded, and waited, together, while Wes watched the second hand sweep over his wristwatch and repeated his instructions for leaving the room before his concealing spell faded.

***

Angel was standing at the window when Spike returned to his office. Spike ran a hand over his face and wanted very, very much to leave him there to brood. Let sleeping psychotic hell-hounds lie.

But he stepped up behind Angel, putting his arms around the big guy’s waist. Angel turned his head only slightly to acknowledge him.

“Boring meeting,” Spike said, and kissed Angel’s ear. “Tired of working?”

Angel wriggled out of his hold and turned to frown at him. Spike took a step back. “What? I-“

The door to the office opened.

Without moving his eyes from Spike, Angel said, “Connor. How's your dad?”

Spike spun around to stare at the boy who had just walked in, casual, his hands in his pockets. “He's fine. They're releasing him now. I should warn you, he's pretty pissed. I told him that you took me out demon fighting and, uh, almost got me killed. He wants to have a talk with you.”

“My god,” Spike whispered. The kid had Darla’s chin, hell, her whole lower face, and the same way of tilting his head back with a smile, half insolence, half self-mockery, that anyone but Angel would be able to see meant he was joking.

Angel pushed Spike out of his way, hurrying to approach the boy. “All right. I'll, uh...”

“I'm kidding! Man, you gotta lighten up. He thinks we spent the whole night doing tests. I told him I could bench press, like, 1,000 pounds.” The kid gave a loose shrug and easily stepped around Angel. “Hey, Spike, right?”

“Yeah,” Spike said, feeling like he’d had a piano dropped on his kidneys.

“How’s that blue lady?”

“Uh, she’s fine.” Spike cleared his throat. “So, you’re, uh…” Angel’s son. Spike could smell it, oddly, something Angel-like in the boy’s base-scent, beyond the blood and the sweat of human flesh.

Connor raised his eyebrows expectantly. “I’m?”

Spike opened and closed his mouth, trying to find words to say that weren’t about how young and alive he was, and how Angel had called out his name, at orgasm, and that was the name of his SON he called out.

Angel interrupted the awkward silence. “What are you going to tell them about who you are?”

Connor gave another fluid shrug. “The truth, more or less. I'll tell them that I'm different. I'll tell them it's... actually a good thing. I'll tell them to stop worrying so much.”

Angel’s expression was soft. He looked like he was trying to stop himself from hugging Connor, looming at the very edge of personal space. “Well, they're parents.”

“Maybe I should leave you two alone,” Spike said, voice a little hoarse, and thinking exactly the opposite.

“Naw, it’s cool.” Connor sauntered up to Spike. “So you’re a vampire too, huh? And you work with, uh, Angel?”

It was Connor’s first hint of awkwardness. Spike tilted his head and saw the kid’s nostrils flare briefly, and then his eyes widen.

“It’s more than that,” Spike said. “Angel and me…”

“We really don’t have to talk about this now, Spike,” Angel said, grabbing his arm with more force than necessary.

Connor looked slowly from one to the other. “Anyway... I just wanted to say good-bye. I gotta go back to my life now. So, bye.” Connor waved and headed to the door.

Angel gave Spike a hard look and then released him, hurrying after Connor. “Do you really have to leave? I mean, right now?”

“I kinda think I should. I need to take care of my parents. This isn't their world. They really don't feel safe here.” He looked meaningfully at Angel. “You gotta do what you can to protect your family. I learned that from my father.”

Spike watched with Angel as the young man walked confidently to the elevator. There was something predatory in his gait, and Spike wondered just how much “demon killing” had been done the night before.

And then, with a brief, sly smile, the boy was gone. A sadness fell over Angel’s face that was painful to see. Longing, regret. Spike had felt that emotional cocktail before, and it was a brain-kicker. Angel hung in place, not moving from the door to his office.

Spike coughed. “Wes told me,” he said.

Angel turned. Spike said, “That he’s your son. Connor.” He worried at the unreadable expression before him. “You can tell. I mean, I can. Scent it on him. And his eyes.” There was something, not the color, but the set, very Angel-like about Connor’s eyes. Not that Spike would have noticed – he didn’t notice – without knowing the child’s parentage.

Angel walked back to the windows. “I don’t want to talk to you right now, Spike.” The magically filtered sunlight fell on his face and shoulders like a falcon’s hood.

Spike bit his lip, took one step toward the exit, then changed his mind. “You could have confided in me, you know. I’m not saying I could understand, but I could know. Sometimes it helps, just having someone else who knows.”

“Connor is none of your business.”

“The hell he isn’t.” Spike put his hand on the window and leaned into Angel’s view. “We’re family, aren’t we? Whatever else you and I are, Angel, we were family first.”

Angel turned and narrowed his eyes. “No, Spike. You were a victim, not a son.”

Spike recoiled. “I just want to talk, Angel. You never talk to me anymore; you notice that? Not since -- since we started getting on.”

Angel gave him a flat expression that implied heavily that they hadn’t exactly ‘talked’ much before then, and turned back to contemplating the scenery.

Spike fidgeted. “Darla, then?” Angel made no move, and the silence grew heavy. “Don’t blame you. She was something else, wasn’t she? Don’t think ice would have melted in her mouth – when she was alive, even. But I thought you’d done for the old girl, back in Sunnydale.”

Angel sighed and leaned his head back. “Your friend Lindsey brought her back to life. Made her human. Made her suffer. To torture me and turn me dark.”

“He’s not my friend,” Spike said, quickly and quietly.

“No, he really isn’t.” Angel looked directly at Spike for the first time since Connor had arrived. “He used you, without qualm. And you ran back to him, and he used you again. And you go back to him.” Angel squinted. “Why do you keep going back to him?”

Spike felt his jaw drop, and wondered that it wasn’t on the ground. Angel was looking at him expectantly. “That’s bloody ironic, coming from you,” Spike said at last. “You’re the one I keep coming back to, Angel. Starting to wonder _why_ , with all this jealous bullsh…”

“I know you went to visit him.”

Spike felt all the blood drain from his face. “I – wait, how…?”

“Two hours of your day were unaccounted for. Two hours of security footage were missing. I’m not an idiot, Spike. Who’s helping you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking…” Spike could see the utter failure of his attempt to lie written plain on Angel’s face. He swallowed. His head lowered. Damn it, why did he feel ashamed? “No one helped. I nicked the tapes myself. Threw them in the shredder.”

“I see. And then you washed your hands and crawled into my bed to kiss me with the same mouth you used to suck his cock?”

“No!” Spike felt panic rising. He shoved his hands into his pockets to stop them from shaking. “No. We just talked.”

“For two hours.” Angel looked calm, waiting for an explanation.

“We didn’t do anything. I swear.” Spike felt himself ducking, wincing away from a blow that hadn’t come. “I just wanted to be sure he was okay. For your sake, Angel. Your soul’s sake. Make sure you hadn’t done anything you couldn’t live without.”

“It’s all right. I’m not mad. Just disappointed.”

“Angel, I…”

A hand closed on Spike’s wrist. “But you know I have to punish you.”

Spike stepped back, slipping from Angel’s grip just as it got tighter. “Wait,” he said. “Two hours… I told you true, we just talked, not five minutes even, but you know me, I don’t think, so I grabbed more tape than I needed.”

Angel stayed where he was as Spike retreated across the room, watching patiently.

“So you see, there’s nothing to punish, yeah? Lindsey’s nothing to me. I don’t even know the bloke, do I?”

“Come here,” said Angel.

“Let’s just talk about Connor. You’re obviously hurting, mate. I want to help.”

“Come here,” Angel repeated. “You don’t want me to have to come to you, Spike.”

And with those words, Spike stopped his slow backwards crawl to the door. Almost without volition, he stepped forward.

Angel nodded.

Spike crossed the space and, at a look from Angel, sank to his knees. “All right. Sire. Go ahead; punish me. What do you want me to do?”

Angel’s large hand rested on Spike’s head, forcing it down a little more. “Do you understand why I’m punishing you?”

Spike stopped himself from shaking his head. “I went to see Lindsey.”

“I said you could visit him if you wanted to. Try again.”

Spike licked his lips. “I lied.”

“Why would you want to keep me from knowing you’d gone to visit him, Spike? Tell me the truth.”

“I knew you’d get mad.”

The pressure of Angel’s hand grew, and Spike strained to keep from bowing to the floor. “Now tell me why I’d get mad, if Lindsey means nothing to you and you were only checking up on him ‘for the sake of my soul’.” This last said in an angry, mocking tone.

Spike blinked back tears, angry with himself that he felt guilty, angry that he couldn’t come up with the right words to say. “I don’t know.”

“And again, you’re lying.” Angel pushed down very hard, until Spike’s face was almost touching the carpet, then let go. “Follow me.”

Spike rubbed his neck and turned to see Angel stride purposefully to the office door. “Where are we going?”

Angel pushed both doors open and strode confidently into the hall. “To see your friend,” he said.

“Wait. No, Angel.” Spike jogged to catch up with him. “No one else needs to be involved in this.”

“Yes, Spike.” Angel muttered. “I have no reason to be jealous. Keep convincing me of that.” He hit the button for the elevator and folded his hands behind him.

“That’s not—I— Look, Angel. I don’t have to care for a guy not to want him to end up between me, you, and your jealous rage.”

Angel stepped all the way to the back of the elevator, leaving room for Spike to follow him. Spike held back just a moment.

He let out a shaky breath as the elevator doors closed and Angel didn’t move from his stoic stance.

Spike was pretty sure he should keep quiet, rather than dig himself a new hole, but he just couldn’t stand the silence. “Lindsey will tell you. We didn’t even touch.”

Angel pushed Spike ahead of him out the door as they reached the medical floor.

Spike twisted to try and gauge Angel’s expression. As usual, it was unreadable. “You know he’d tell you if we did. He’d rather piss you off than escape a beating.”

They reached the hospital room where just yesterday Spike had spoken with Lindsey. Unlike Spike, Angel called for the guard, signed in, and had the door unlocked.

Lindsey was on the bed, but he scrambled up as soon as the door opened. He looked from one vampire to the other. Spike’s head was down, his hands moving nervously as he held his arms to himself. Angel looked straight at Lindsey. The door locked behind them.

“Well,” said Lindsey, “isn’t this a fuckin’ surprise. Heard they were going to move me back down to holding?”

Angel shrugged one shoulder. “Can’t have that,” he said. He stepped forward and backhanded Lindsey, sending him sprawling onto the bed. He howled as he landed on his cast.

“He’s human, Angel; you can’t keep doing this to him.”

“Shut up, Spike.” Angel casually approached the bed and picked Lindsey up by his hair.

“You know who else was human?” Lindsey said. Angel punched his face. He shook the pain off. “Holland Manners.”

“Please, Angel,” Spike wrapped his arms around Angel’s bicep, pulling him back before he punched again. “Don’t do this. I’ll do anything you want. You know I will. Let’s just go back to your place.”

Angel dropped Lindsey and twisted to push Spike to the floor. “Yes, Spike,” he said, “You’ll do everything I say.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Chap. 25 is very violent and nasty and so I've set it up so it can be safely skipped if you wish without losing anything from the plot.)


	25. Pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can skip this chapter if you want.
> 
> It is entirely the "Punishment" Angel metes out on Spike and Lindsey.
> 
> There is non-con and violence and mind-fucks and all the worst worst things ever and it's so horrid it's not even sexy by the end.
> 
> So, yeah, happily it fits in as its own chapter so if you're of a weak stomach, you can just skip it and not miss any plot.

_Angel dropped Lindsey and twisted to push Spike to the floor. “Yes, Spike,” he said, “You’ll do everything I say.”_

Spike nodded, grateful to have Angel’s attention on him.

Angel’s thumb pressed along Spike’s jaw, sliding slowly to his chin and then holding it. “Lindsey, you don’t mind if my whore here sucks me off in front of you?”

Spike heard the bed squeak as Lindsey righted himself, rustling fabric and the dull clunk of his cast hitting the side-rail. “Naw, man, you do what you want.”

Lindsey was far better at feigned nonchalance. Still, Spike felt heat rising to his face, knowing that he was a whore, and Lindsey would see.

But Angel was undoing his belt. “You don’t mind, and Lindsey doesn’t mind, so get to work, Spike. Show me what’s mine.”

Spike tried to keep his eyes from drifting past Angel to the bed. Lindsey had settled back against the pillows, straightened his gown and gotten a magazine off the bed-tray, acting convincingly like he wasn’t the least interested.

Angel put his hand on the back of Spike’s head, helping guide him forward.

Spike closed his eyes and concentrated on the contact, the feel of thin, velvet soft skin and blood-drenched hardness. He licked a sweet dribble of pre-cum and took the head into his mouth. His throat closed tight and he gagged, feeling hot waves of humiliation passing down his neck. But he had to do this. It was his punishment, and at least Angel wasn’t harming Lindsey. Lindsey, who was human and couldn’t heal; who didn’t deserve, no matter what he’d done, the same treatment Spike did.

“That’s it. You see what a little whore he is? Oh, but you knew that, didn’t you, Lindsey?”

“Really not interested, champ. Told him I was happy with the turn I had.” There was the sound of flipping papers. “Why don’t you take that somewhere else so I can rest?”

Spike’s throat felt too, too tight. He tried to pull away, but Angel’s fingers dug into his scalp, tearing at the hair as he thrust hard. “Uhn. You should watch, Lindsey. But you’ve seen, haven’t you? Seen those lips stretched tight. He gives it up so easy. Always was orally-fixated.” And Angel pressed his hard shoe into Spike’s groin, crushing soft, sensitive flesh as Spike struggled to pull away, twisting his head against the grip in his hair. “Now, now, boy. You take it. You’re being punished, remember? Or would you rather I did something else?”

He stopped struggling, squeezing his eyes against the tears that threatened.

“This. Ah. This is the best. When he gives up and just lets me fuck him like the dead. Thing. He. Is. Did he do that for you, Linds? Did you use him like a fuck-hole? Did you – uhn – unload deep down his throat or spray it all over his. Pretty. Face?”

“Nah. We were slow and gentle and shit. Pretended we cared. Really, can you do that somewhere fuckin’ else? I have bones to knit and fishing lures to catch up on.” He waved his magazine.

Angel grunted and sped up his efforts. It hurt. Fingers gripping in his hair, the cock jamming hard down his throat again and again, the knee in his chest keeping him away and yet slamming into him with every thrust. He grabbed his own cock as he came, guiding the stream over Spike’s lips. “Lick it up, slut.”

Shuddering with humiliation, he did.

“Ah, good boy.” Angel stepped back. “Thank you, Spike. That took the edge off. Wouldn’t want it to be over too fast when I fuck this bastard.”

“No!” Spike grabbed for Angel’s arm, only to be knocked back with a fist. “Angel, you promised…”

“I promised? I didn’t promise anything, Spike. But you did. You promised you would be faithful to me. That you would stop driving me to do these things. Well, you’re going to see the consequences of your actions.”

Lindsey threw his fishing and tackle magazine at Angel’s face and jumped over the other side of the bed. “Grab him!” He shouted to Spike.

Angel turned leisurely to face Lindsey. “Oh no, Linds. You’ve made a slight miscalculation there. Spike isn’t going to help you. Are you, Spike?”

Spike crawled to his feet with the help of the IV-stand, the back of his hand covering his split lip. “Angel, don’t.”

Lindsey danced out of Angel’s reach, though there wasn’t far he could go in the small room. He hopped back and forth, left and right against the wall, staying out of reach. “What the fuck, Spike! Jump him! We can take him.”

Angel, who had been unhurried in his pursuit, stopped altogether, a smug grin lifting one side of his mouth. “You don’t get it, do you? Spike _belongs_ to me.”

Lindsey shook his head, slowly. “We both know that’s what this is about. You wouldn’t even be touching me if it didn’t piss him off. Your boy wants me. What can I say? I tried pushing him away. Guess I just got something he’s missing.”

Spike caught Angel’s arm just as it pulled back. “Angel. Don’t.”

Angel lunged supernatural-quick and grabbed Lindsey by the throat. He turned. “Or?”

With his good hand and his feet, Lindsey fought, punching and kicking at Angel as he was pinned to the wall. Over Angel’s hand he shot an angry and betrayed look at Spike.

Spike advanced slowly, hands up, placating. “Just put him down, love. Don’t want to make you madder, but I won’t let you hurt him.”

Lindsey made a strangled sound that might have been a laugh or snort.

Angel raised an eyebrow at Spike. “You want me to put him down? Okay.” He threw Lindsey across the room. He landed with a cry and scream, curling over his cast.

Spike blocked Angel’s first punch, jaw set and seething, breath coming hard out of him. Angel kicked his legs out, and he scrambled up, half way, only to find Angel on him, arm around his neck. “Stay down, whore,” he hissed.

Shuddering, Spike stilled. He remembered that there was a plan; somewhere, Wes was working on a way to get them both out of there, and he had to play his part. And the door was locked and security, no doubt, had standing orders to rush in if Angel was in danger. Stun guns, stakes, and back in the holding cell. Again. A week without food. Again. He let his body go lax in Angel’s grip. “Sorry. Sorry. Fuck. Fuck. Shouldn’t have done that.”

“No, Spike, you shouldn’t have.” Angel’s thick arm slipped out from around his throat. “You’re going to crawl, Spike, to the foot of the bed, and put your hands on the rail.”

Spike nodded. As Angel lifted off of him, he did as he was told.

“What’s wrong with you?” Lindsey’s voice came in tight gasps against the pain. “Jesus fuck, Spike, he’s gonna…” he picked himself up on his good arm and crawled forward. “He’s just gonna do it all anyway.”

Spike closed his eyes, unable to explain. Whatever had been between him and Lindsey, it was over, should have been over long ago, and would be unsalvageable after this. After Lindsey saw what he really was – weak, stupid, a whore.

Angel wrapped Spike’s wrists and the rail bar with the nylon bed restraints, fastening them more tightly than they were designed to go. Angel was well skilled in binding, and Spike had no circulation to loose.

“Now then, Lindsey.” Angel easily stepped away from a kick and picked him up. “Let’s get down to business.”

Lindsey raised his chin. “Go right ahead, asshole. Show your little fucktoy what a dick you really are.”

Angel just smiled. He threw Lindsey down on the bed with casual strength. “Spread your legs for me, counselor.”

Lindsey spit at him.

Angel’s fist doubled him over as it sank into his gut. Angel followed it, climbing up onto the bed, grabbing Lindsey’s good arm, smashing it into the bedrail once just for spite, and pinning it.

“Sire.” Spike pulled forward as far as his restrained wrists would allow. “Please, Sire. Don’t. You don’t have to do this.”

Lindsey tossed his head back. “You make him call you that? Does it get you off? Some weird vampire kink?”

Angel’s hands were rough, pulling and dragging with sweat as he pushed Lindsey down, ripping the hospital gown away like the illusory protection it was. “You might want to shut that mouth, boy, before you make this harder than it has to be.”

Spike continued to plead. “I’ll be good,” he said. Angel, ignoring him, pushed Lindsey’s legs up higher and tighter than could have been comfortable or even possible for a muscular man, hands digging cruelly into the skin. Spike had a clear view of flesh dug into, bruises rising already. Spike bit his lip. “Daddy,” he said.

Angel let up, just a fraction, his eyelashes fluttering.

“Daddy, please. I’ll be good. A good boy.” Spike’s hopes rose, as Angel seemed to consider.

“Fuck,” said Lindsey, “You fuckin’ perv. Getting off on bein’ called ‘Daddy’, Angel? Shit, I should have seen that one coming.”

Angel punched Lindsey in the jaw, hard enough that his eyes rolled back and he went limp.

He crawled to the foot of the bed. He took Spike’s head in his hands and pressed their brows together, breathing hard puffs onto his face. “You. Do not. Want Lindsey. You don’t sell yourself to protect him.”

“I’ll be Connor for you.” Spike met his gaze steadily. “If that’s what you want, what you need. I’ll do anything. Just don’t do this, Angelus. Don’t put my punishment on a human body.”

With a wordless cry, Angel slammed Spike’s head into the rail bar his hands were tied to. He did it again and again, until blood flowed free from his scalp and forehead, painting that pale white skin in tendrils of crimson.

Spike cried out to him, something he couldn’t hear, some plea. Angel let go and crawled back, stumbled over Lindsey’s stunned, stirring form. Angel felt his mind flooded with anger, no other thoughts able to work in its deluge. He grabbed Lindsey by his broken arm and jammed him face-first into the footboard by Spike. Lindsey cried out, which was good. Angel didn’t care if he was unconscious for this, but he preferred not. He quickly undid his pants and thrust home into the plaint body. It hurt himself, going in dry, but he didn’t care. This wasn’t about pleasure. It was about pain.

“There. See that, Spike? LOOK AT ME!”

Spike’s tear-and-blood ringed eyes rose, brows crinkled beautifully in pain. He obeyed. Angel fucked into Lindsey, picking him up and settling him further up on the foot rail. Lindsey’s good hand scrambled for purchase on the slick metal while his head and shoulders beat into it.

“See your boyfriend, Spike?” Angel demanded. “Do you see him?”

Spike kept his eyes on Angel’s. “Yes,” he said. “I see him. I see you, Angel.”

Angel roared. He thrust even harder, trying to break Lindsey with his body. Lindsey’s head lolled, falling under again.

In frustration, Angel pulled out. He jumped off the bed and paced.

Spike blinked the sting of blood and sweat from his eyes. Lindsey’s head lolled onto Spike’s arm, bleeding, like he was, from the forehead.

Angel returned to the bed and snatched Lindsey up, flipping him back onto his back in the center of the bed. He stood back then, breathing hard, looking from Lindsey’s prone form to Spike. He arranged Lindsey’s limbs and resumed pacing. “You make me do this,” he said.

Spike sank his head between his bound arms.

Angel slapped Lindsey’s face. “Wake up!” He pulled back, obviously wanting to beat the man for daring to remain unconscious, then thought better of it. He tapped lighter, both cheeks, watching intently for a sign of life. Lindsey’s eyelashes fluttered and Angel stepped back.

His pants were still open, his cock hanging, still hard and smeared with blood. He stepped behind Spike, who flinched as his shadow fell on him. He put his hand on Spike’s head. “You make me do this,” he said.

“I know,” Spike said. “Lay it all on me. My fault. I’m so, so sorry, Angel. My fault. I’ll confess. You want to do that one? I’ll confess and then we’ll have penance and communion. You can use the cross on me.”

Angel’s hand slipped down, over Spike’s hair, it was meant as a comforting gesture, a pet, but the sweat sticks and he pulls hairs out. “This needs to end. No more, Spike. No more Lindsey.”

Spike nodded as hard as he could, the blood rushing forward into his wounds and back. “I swear. I swear, Angelus. I’ll never, never look at him. Never think about him.”

“Don’t call me ‘Angelus’,” Angel said. He balled his fists together and struck Spike’s back between the shoulder blades. It made a hollow sound in his chest.

Angel stepped back. “Lindsey’s waking up. Soon.” He reached for Spike’s wrists. Undoing the bonds was harder than doing them, they were twisted tight. He picked patiently with his fingernails.

“Thank you. Sire, thank you. I promise, this time, I swear I’ll be good. For you, sire, just for you.”

Angel grimaced. “I’m not letting you go, Spike. And we’re not done. I need you untied so you can get this out of your system.”

The bindings were cut very tightly into his skin and cut tighter as they were released. Angel tossed them aside and helped Spike to his feet.

Lindsey, blinking, was moving slowly, the swimming motions of a man disoriented. He started to roll onto his side and sit up.

Angel held Lindsey on his back with one hand in the center of his chest and looked at Spike. “Come on, get on him.”

Spike stood where he’d been left, holding his damaged wrists. “What?”

“Take your clothes off, Spike, and get on the bed.”

His tone brooked no argument, and his face was less than patient, waiting.

Spike stripped quickly, leaving his clothes in a pile on the floor. He had to force himself to walk forward, not wanting anything less than he wanted to be near that bed. He knelt on the very edge of the mattress and looked to Angel for instruction.

Angel ran his hand over Spike’s back, sending shivers through him. He paused to cup one ass-cheek. “I don’t know why you wear clothes at all,” he said, conversationally. “Come on, climb over. I need you to hold him down.”

Spike’s arms and legs shook uncontrollably. He let Angel guide him into place, over Lindsey, his hands on Lindsey’s right shoulder and left elbow, holding him down. He felt fluttering pulse, everywhere their skin touched, and smelled sickness, fear, and disgust. He wanted to crawl away from his own flesh, so dead and cool in comparison.

Lindsey licked the bloody split in his lower lip. “Don’t do this,” he said.

“I don’t know what this is,” Spike said as quietly as he could.

Angel was still petting his back, squeezing flesh where it was fullest. “Go on,” he said. “You want to fuck him, don’t you? Go ahead. Fuck him. I want to see it.”

Spike shook his head. “No. Only you, Angel, I swear.”

Angel smacked his ass hard. “Kiss him. Go on. Show me how you kiss my enemies.”

Spike continued to shake his head as Angel pushed him hard, trying to force him down against Lindsey. “Do it, Spike. You said you’d obey me and I’m letting you get this out of your system.” Angel smacked him again, and again, harder. Spike’s arms were frozen, locked, holding himself off the body beneath him. A drop of sweat fell from his nose to Lindsey’s upper lip.

“Is this how you obey? Is this being good? What do your promises mean, Spike? Do they mean anything at all?”

Spike lowered himself, slower than the pressure forcing him, and shaking lips hit slack, blood smeared.

“Is that how you do it? Is that how you betray me? Go on, fuck him. Fuck him!” Angel was pushing hard on Spike’s hips, grinding him down in a rough parody of sex.

Spike turned his head to the side. Lindsey’s breath was hot on his cheek, his blood-smell strong. “I can’t.”

“You can fight him,” Lindsey’s lips moved against Spike’s ear. “You aren’t weak. Do it. Fight him.”

“I can’t,” Spike repeated.

Angel at last gave up his assault of smashing them together. He stepped back, slipped his hand between them and squeezed Spike’s limp cock. “Well, that’s not going to do. Guess you’ll have to suck him, Spike.”

Spike twisted away, got up on his knees to face Angel. “Just stop. I get it. I understand what you… I understand.”

“No. You don’t. Get down and suck him off. Go on. Show him what you’re good for.”

“I can’t. Please, Angel. Stop this.”

“We aren’t leaving this room until you suck him off. I want to know you’ve had your fill.”

“No. No.”

But Spike bent easily when Angel grabbed him by the hair and shoved him toward Lindsey’s groin.

Lindsey crawled back, tried to fight off with his knees and legs, but ANgel held him down again, one super-strong hand on his chest while Spike placed his lips, slack and bloodless, on Lindsey’s soft dick.

“That’s it,” Angel said. “Don’t worry. He’ll be hard soon, won’t you, Linds? Never could resist a vampire, isn’t that what you said? All that supernatural power? Does it get you off, having strength perverted into weakness?”

Lindsey closed his eyes and turned his head away. But his cheeks were flushed, the blood surging to the surface with shame so strong Angel could almost hear it.

Angel hauled Lindsey up against the headboard and mashed his lips to him, forcing his tongue out to taste the bright copper and salt-sweet tears. He pushed Lindsey into the monitors and switches over the head of the bed and turned to make sure Spike was still in place.

He was crying, his face against Lindsey’s thigh, the half-hard cock laying against his lips.

Angel fisted the hair over his forehead. “Do as I say,” he said.

“Yes, Daddy.”

Angel ripped the fistful of hair out. “Don’t call me that!” He backhanded Spike.

He lifted the boy, pulled him up and settled behind him. “Don’t. Call me. Daddy.”

It felt right, fucking Spike over Lindsey, fucking the two insubordinate, frustrating men into each other, beating them with each other’s sweat-sticky skin.

Until Angel’s orgasm ripped from him, leaving him empty and suddenly alone with two beaten, silent bodies.

“Oh god,” he said. He pulled Spike off the bed and gathered him into his arms. “Oh god, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry. Please.”

Lindsey laughed, brokenly. His good arm hung at an awkward angle over the bed-rail. “You. You are really fucked up,” he managed to point, once, lazily, and then passed out.


	26. Comfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, should be much less, well, violent than the last chapter - nothing physical bad happens. We advance plot, even! As I said, the last chapter can safely be skipped without this chapter losing anything.

“Did I hurt you?” Angel asked, and then his face crumpled as he saw the sheer incredulity returned to him in Spike’s expression. He could smell blood – so much of it, most of it Lindsey’s. “I’m sorry.”

He held Spike to himself and hurried from the room. Spike struggled, just a little, as they pushed through the door into the hallway, but Angel pulled Spike’s knees tight against his hip and pressed his head to his shoulder, and he stilled.

People ran to get out of his way. Someone called the elevator for him. He thanked them. As the doors closed, he remembered to ask, “Oh, uh, could you tell a doctor or somebody to check on Mr. McDonald?”

Spike didn’t say anything, but his eyes were open, staring blankly at the carpet as it sped past.

“I’m sorry,” Angel repeated, and it became a mantra, under his breath, a ward against thinking or saying anything else. He hated the whole trip back to the apartment – a walk of shame. He kept his eyes down, on Spike’s long neck – marked with red and yellowing bruises – sorry sorry sorry – rather than see the random people in the hallways react. Or not react – that was worse. Their bland gazes letting him know that he was nothing new in the halls of Wolfram and Hart.

It had taken him a hundred years to find and then trust in the decent guy inside himself. And now he was crumbling, a façade. And he didn’t want to blame Spike, not at all, but if he hadn’t gone and earned his soul, Angel could have continued to believe in the safe dichotomy of Angelus and Angel, he wouldn’t have started thinking about it, examining it, touching the demon inside him like you would touch a sore tooth.

And like a sore tooth, it swelled from the attention. And then he was trying to ‘let off steam’ a little, safely, here and there, when it was someone evil, like Lindsey, or someone who would understand, like Spike. But this…

Angel was a monster. And he knew it. And that sore tooth? He was biting down on it with constant pressure now.

He set Spike on the bed, and he rolled onto his side. He was so little, like this, striped bare and his legs tucked up. How did he get so small and fragile? Once he could fill up a room just by walking in. But he’d been evil then.

Angel filled the bathtub and fussed too long choosing curative salts from among the embarrassing array of scents housekeeping had provided. Why did people get this idea he liked bath salts?

At last the bath was set and filling. He ran back to the bedroom, suddenly convinced Spike wouldn’t be there. But he hadn’t moved, was a pink form, broken and soft on the dark spread. He gathered him up and kissed his cheek. It was probably just gravity that pulled his head away. Angel pushed down the urge to punish the perceived rejection, clutched it in his gut like a fist.

As he settled Spike in the tub, though, and he did pull away, sank against the far wall, his arms and legs drawn in front of him, hiding himself from view.

“Spike. Spike, stop. Don’t. Don’t do that. Let me take care of you. Here, let me…” He tugged on a stiffly held arm until at once it gave in, fell loose into his grasp and he took the soap and started washing. “Just let me fix this,” Angel said.

Spike was stiff, fighting a little here and there, but slowly he let himself be moved and tended to.

His head lay back against the tub-rim, looking up at the ceiling. His Adam’s apple dipped up and down. “My fault,” he said.

They were his first words since the… since they’d left the hospital floor. Angel froze in place. “Spike?”

“It’s my fault. Sorry. Shouldn’t have… shouldn’t have done any of it.”

Angel gathered him up and kissed his wet hair. “My boy. You scared me. Don’t go away from me. Please, don’t leave me.”

“Not going to,” Spike said, though he sounded despairing.

“I don’t deserve you, Spike. I know that’s why you keep leaving me. I don’t deserve you, this life. I’m supposed to be the champion. But I keep failing. I fail.”

Water splashed and trickled musically as Spike raised his arm. His wet fingers buried in Angel’s hair while Angel leaned over the tub side, hugging Spike hard and not caring if his clothes got wet.

Spike’s chest expanded and fell, twice. “It’s not about failing,” he said. “’S about getting back up anyway an’ soldiering on.”

Angel’s tears mixed strongly with the scent of bath-water and soap. He nodded, rubbing his cheek into the soft wet hair, dissipating the salt. “I have to keep on,” he said. “Or it’s all lost. Everything. Fred. Cordy. There has to be a reason they died. This has to all be worth something in the end.”

“It’s all right. You got me, Angel. You got me. Just want you to stay with me. Stay with me.”

Angel didn’t understand why Spike sounded like he was lying, but he nodded. He pushed gently back, disentangling them. “Let’s wash your hair,” he said, pushing Spike down until his head was in the water. Spike looked afraid for some reason, but Angel supposed it was just all this confused discipline.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he said again, and squeezed out some shampoo. “Don’t make me do that again.”

“I won’t,” Spike said, with conviction this time, his eyes solemn.

He could be so adult sometimes, it was just heartbreaking.

***

Spike shuddered with revulsion with each gentle touch and caress, but he made himself lie still for it. For the damned long bath and careful examination of each wound, every moment wondering what was happening to Lindsey, what wounds the fragile human bore for his sake and if the hands tending them where anywhere near as considerate.

But he couldn’t ask, couldn’t even speak the name. He’d never make that mistake again. He bit his lip each time he thought of Lindsey, trying to train himself not to.

He focused on Angel. The confusing contradictions of Angel. When he could work up the air to speak without shaking, he said, “I want to help you, Angel. Let me help you. What do you need?”

He was rewarded with more pawing and a horrible wet kiss. “Baby, you’re too good.” Angel insisted on lifting him from the bath, though Spike could perfectly well get up on his own – he wasn’t that injured. But Angel wrapped him in the bath sheet and carried him to his big bed.

Spike hated that bed, now. The smell of it – faint with cologne and Angel’s sweat and the dusky smell of silk. Angel laid him on it and rubbed his hair, then knelt at the foot of the bed, looking at his own hands.

Spike began to fear Angel was going to start praying.

Instead he looked up, “I get jealous,” he said.

It would be a good point to laugh, if Spike had been capable of laughing. He just stared.

“But I want you to know, it’s not for nothing. I have a plan. Based on the things Lindsey told me.” He half-smiled at the irony, no joy in his eyes. He shrugged, fingers moving listlessly over each other. “The black thorn circle. They’re the senior partner’s agents in this world. And they’ve been working, far too well, at turning me to their side. They want me evil. Unbalanced. Maybe from the beginning they’ve been playing me. They brought you here, but made it so I couldn’t touch you. They took Cordy away. They brought Lindsey back. And we’ve been sitting by, trying to fight evil with evil and wondering why we fall behind every time. It’s failing, Spike. You were right. We can’t just use this place against itself. We have to do something different.”

Angel looked up. “I’m going to join them.”

Spike tried not to react. All he could do was hold perfectly still. Angel crawled up the bed and put his arms around him. He kissed his shoulder.

In Spike’s ear he spoke very, very quietly, the bare sub-vocalizations only a vampire could pick up, even this close. “To take them out once and for all. And that’s what I’m going to do. Another few weeks, another few meetings, and they’ll be ready to welcome me, to accept me as evil. And that’s all the time I’ll have with you. So it’s killing me, Spike, every moment apart. I want what we have left to last. You see, that’s the final entry fee: someone you love. You’ll be turned over to them, tortured, and then I will kill you. I hope you forgive me, Spike. It’s for the greater good. Once I’m in, I’ll know all the members of the Black Thorn Circle. And I can take them out, one at a time.”

Spike had to force air into his lungs. “How… how long?”

Angel lowered his head, kissing along an unresponsive cheek and jaw and slack lips. “I know you’ve always been willing to sacrifice yourself,” he said. “It’s why I love you, baby. Why – god – why in some ways you’re better than me. Why I promise I’m going to make these next few weeks the best you’ve ever had. Even though I’m still a little angry. I know I got carried away. It wasn’t all your fault. Lindsey’s much smarter than you are.”

Angel hovered over Spike, rubbing tears from his cheeks with his thumbs. He lined their faces up so Spike had no choice but to meet his eyes. “Do you understand why I punished you?”

Spike swallowed, hard. His lips were white at the edges. “I lied to you,” he said.

“Good baby,” Angel said, and kissed him. “That’s right. You lied, and lying is betrayal. You won’t do that again, will you?”

“No. No I swear.” Spike shook his head.

“Good. And I won’t have to punish you again, will I? Because we’re just going to keep you right here. Can you do that for me, Spike? Can you stay in the apartment?”

Spike squeezed his eyes shut. “Don’t lock me in my room.” He hated the thin, plaintive note of his voice.

“Sh.” Angel stroked his face. “I won’t baby. Not if you’re good. I won’t. But I’m gonna have to chain you up, just now. Is that all right? Will you let me do that? I’m just feeling insecure, baby. I want to know for sure you’re here with me.”

Spike felt himself nod. And then he felt the suede lining of Angel’s most ‘pampering’ cuffs tightening against him with the metal snick of the lock.

Through the confused muddle of emotions and the slowly releasing tension of trauma survived, he realized he had information, faster than any of them hoped, vital information to give to Wesley. And no way to do so.

Angel hummed quietly to himself as he walked around the bed, securing Spike at each corner and checking the length of slack on the chains.

***

Wes was trying not to panic. Spike had not been seen for over a day, and he had report from his contacts in medical that Lindsey McDonald had mysteriously developed new fractures and required surgery.

Gunn had uncovered no legal pressure on Angel, no blackmail or extortion that could explain his increasingly dark decisions. But, Gunn said, he was holding out hope that something would be uncovered.

The only place anyone could talk was away from the office, so he had left a dozen projects on the back burner to join Illyria in the field, hunting down a beast.

Illyria paced ahead of him through the otherworldly landscape of a decommissioned amusement park. She walked straight ahead, unconcerned with the danger as Wesley tried to keep to shadows and cover, his eyes half on the scenery, half on the detection equipment he carried.

“I've seen this before with many rulers,” Illyria said. “Your leader has been corrupted.”

“I’m sure it’s not that. Angel is, has always been, strongly resistant to corruption. He has a vested interest in his own redemption. We will find an explanation and…”

Illyria cut him off without thought. “It always begins the same. A ruler turns a blind eye to the dealings of battles from which he cannot gain... and a deaf ear to the counsel of those closest to him. As his strength increases, so does the separation between he and his follow—“

“Hush.” Wesley looked up from the glowing orb in his fist. “The Boretz demon must be within mere yards of us. I can’t get a closer fix.”

Illyria continued on her earlier subject as though she hadn’t been interrupted. “A corrupted ruler on such a path sees treachery and betrayal all around him. He cannot suffer intimates and will eventually turn against them.”

Then, thankfully, the demon attacked, and Wesley was more concerned with getting the hell out of the way while Illyria dispatched it than conversing.

But as they left, llyria said, “Mark me. He will murder one of you.”

Illyria was a god-king. She was far removed from their world, and above all else, she did not know Angel; know the deep and essential decency he possessed.

Lorne’s opinion was harder to bear. Over drinks the night before, confirming that Lorne was now part of “Operation Angel” as they were half-jokingly calling it, Lorne had sadly said, “I think our cherub is batting for the other team. Power corrupts.”

“It doesn't make any sense. Angel never cared about power.”

There was a disturbing emptiness in Lorne’s eyes. “Well, he's never had any to care about, has he? Not real power, even as Angelus, and then just like that, he's king of the mountain. It's quite a view from up there. Tends to make people want things. Even if they start with the best intentions, Angel's seen real power, and he's not looking away. He's gonna go for it, Wes.”

At the office, Wesley tried to smile, to seem unconcerned when he passed Angel in the hallway. “Have you seen Spike lately?”

“Of course,” Angel said with a slightly confused expression. “He’s living with me.”

“Well, I…” Wesley floundered precious seconds, ruining all semblance of nonchalance. “I haven’t seen him in a while. I was concerned his mysterious illness had returned.”

“No, he’s fine. But you know him, Wes. He doesn’t like to get out of bed before noon and with the video games and cable, he hardly leaves the apartment anymore.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound healthy. Perhaps I should speak with him.”

“I’ll ask,” Angel said cheerfully, and waved at Wes, smiling in a familiar, kindly way, obviously very busy and unable to stay and chat, sorry.

Wesley tried very hard not to panic.

***

“Harmony, does anyone ever go up to Angel’s suite? Any service personnel, perhaps?”

Harmony pursed her lips. “I thought you were buying me a drink because you liked me! This is about Spike, isn’t it?”

Wesley winced at the volume of her voice, though it was unlikely – he hoped – that the nightclub was being monitored. “Yes, please keep your voice down. I want to talk to Spike, see if I can pass a message to him, or receive one.”

“Well, Angel booked a spa treatment for Thursday, for Spike, in the suite. You do NOT want to see what that costs. And the place is cleaned every night. But the cleaning people are so not who you want to approach for this. They are, like, mondo loyal and crap. I think there’s a blood oath or something.”

“Will Angel be there?”

“What, for the blood oath? Talk with Bill, head of housekeeping. His office hours are ten to seven – he likes to overlap second shift a little.”

Wesley gaped in wonderment that such a mind existed, so impervious to sense, dead or alive. “I meant at the spa appointment. Will Angel be there to supervise?”

“Duh. No one gets in to see Spike without Angel there. He is like a superstar of jealousy.” Harmony leaned over her drink. “But just between you and me? Tapped that!”

Wesley rubbed at the third migrane of the day – the electronic music was not helping – and reminded himself that at least there was no deadline. It wasn’t as if Angel would actually harm Spike irreparably. Not when he was so bizarrely in love with him.

Trying, once again, not to panic, Wesley took out his notebook and stared at line after line of strikethrough, searching for a new lead he had, perhaps, forgotten about. Pink and yellow lights skated over the page and the table, reminding him that the majority of the world was not in crisis mode.

Harmony stabbed the ice in her drink with her straw and announced her intention to go to the bar for more. When Wesley didn’t take up the hint and hand over cash, she just sighed and went anyway.

***

“Hey baby, it’s lunch time. Hungry?”

Spike raised his head to see Angel undoing his shirt. He didn’t want to eat, but he had to keep his strength up, in case. Just in case. He nodded. The last few days, Angel fed him from his own body – the wrist, usually, sometimes the chest. Spike wondered if it was an extension of his perverted view of Spike as both child and lover, a vampire’s sire being both mother and father.

Spike was sickened by it, though it was only his thoughts that made this connection. Angel scooted close, sliding his arms under Spike, lifting him from the bed.

There was only one chain now, the one around his ankle, but it was only long enough to allow him to walk along one side of the bed. But it was only for when he was alone. Maybe it was only to make him yearn for Angel to come. Angel would unchain it, after lunch was eaten. Unchain it and then watch Spike move about the apartment like a parent watching a toddler’s first steps.

But it’s not like he could go anywhere, naked.

Angel started a cut on his chest and guided Spike’s head to it. “Drink up,” he said. “All you want. Then we will play a game. Whichever you want.”

Angel’s hands felt like rasps to Spike, for all that they were still his hands, still smooth and strong and sure, there was a prickly sensation that followed them over his skin and Spike wondered if he wasn’t going a little mad, himself.

Because his thoughts and his blood quickened when he heard Angel enter the room. He spent all his time waiting for him. He is food and warmth and escape from boredom. Everything comes from Angel. As much as he hated this, his captivity and abasement, in quiet, inescapable ways, he loved it. Loved that intent gaze focused on him.

And as much as he wanted to escape, he also wanted Angel to approve of him, to see he _was_ loyal. Was faithful. So he hasn’t tried to escape. And he hated himself a little for that, knowing that he should try harder.

But time was running out – an unnamed deadline on his life hung like the sword of Damocles over all these quiet moments. It leant a fragile beauty appealing to the Victorian in him. The scarlet ibis, the hothouse rose, the fucking doomed vampire poet: he shuddered in shame and wrapped his arms around Angel’s broad, bare chest. “I love you,” he said, and licked the sluggish trickle of blood from soft, muscle-backed skin.

“Sh,” Angel whispered, hands passing over and over Spike’s back, leaving no section of skin untouched. “It’s okay. Daddy’s taking care of you. Daddy loves you.”


	27. A Question About A Girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, okay due to ~~Ash whinging~~ getting past my minimum chapter word-count, I decided to go ahead and post!
> 
> Warnings: Lots of smut! Masturbation, sex, you know, the usual, also bondage and the usual mind-games. Not the same mind games as before!

“What do you want to do?” Angel asked, holding Spike on his lap and nuzzling his cheek. “Anything at all. Just tell me.”

It was Friday night. One week and three days and Spike hadn’t come any closer to just walking through those doors, there on the wall he was facing. So close, and yet so far. Angel was watching him eagerly, wanting to make this a special evening. “We don’t have to be anywhere tomorrow, we can sleep in, we can really have a night of it. You’ve been so quiet lately. There has to be something you want to do.”

Of course he’d been quiet. Spike was even learning not to roll his eyes. ‘Leave the apartment’ was not a valid response. Nor was ‘escape’ or ‘stab my bleeding eyes out before you make me watch more hockey’.

“Nothing,” Spike said. “This is fine.”

Angel kissed down the side of his neck. “It could be better. We could turn on the TV.”

“Like the quiet,” Spike lied, and craned his neck, ostensibly to give Angel more room to slobber all over him, but mostly to look at the elevator door, as though looking would make it closer.

He no longer worried so much about running into the office corridors bare-arsed. There was no helping that. He shifted his shoulder, rubbing naked flesh against Angel’s fine clothes as he tried to get Angel to slobber somewhere else for a change.

Angel had locked the drawers with Spike’s clothes in them. He had a point – no one ever saw Spike any more and it hardly made sense to have the clothes in the way when Angel would come up for a quickie between meetings.

“You’re sure? Not hungry? Horny?”

“You want to fuck, we can fuck,” Spike said.

“You don’t sound too interested.” Angel’s hand ran down Spike’s bare thigh. “Can I help with that?”

Spike made a noncommittal noise and Angel rolled them so Spike was under him on the couch. He teased and groped calmly, carefully. “How do you want it, baby? Any way you want, it’s your night.”

‘Just get it over with’ wasn’t an allowed response, either, so Spike just closed his eyes and said nothing. This usually worked.

Angel slid down his body, lips joining fingers in slowly bringing Spike’s cock to attention.

Spike shifted his hips to make the angle easier. For one week and three days, Spike had been compliant. Angel liked a blowjob in the morning and a long, slow shag at night. Sometimes he wanted something in the middle of the day, too. And the old poof tried to make it good for him, he did. But not having any choice in the matter wasn’t the turn on Spike would have thought. He found himself thinking of sex like a chore. “Ugh. Going to have to fuck the poof twice more today.”

Worse were the gentle, incidental touches, and not being able to drop the façade and just plead with the barmy bastard to leave him the fuck alone.

Despite himself, he was hardening, a slow buzz growing in his balls and he lifted to meet Angel’s lips as they engulfed him smoothly. A thick finger probed him. He was still a little sore from lunchtime and hissed at the sensation. Angel nibbled at the head of his cock, teasing sharper sensations to ease the pain. He started twisting his finger, tracing the edges of his passage, bringing more pleasure.

Spike sighed, relaxing into it. Soon, he knew, he’d climax, and then Angel would fuck him and then… He opened his eyes. It would repeat. Over and over. Until he was dead.

Staring at the recessed light fixture over his head, Spike wondered if he wasn’t dead already. He took a breath and sat up.

Angel sat up too, as Spike moved away from him. His expression showed his patience was at an end. “What?” he said.

Spike swallowed against the tingle of fear that went through him. “Changed my mind,” he said. “There is something I want to do.”

Angel’s brow folded in and he was about to complain, but Spike quickly slid his naked self into the grumpy poof’s lap. He tilted Angel’s head back and kissed him, deeply, hard, insistent, as though he could punish him with kissing.

When he drew back Angel’s face was filled with shock and almost childlike glee. “I’ve been sulking,” Spike said. “Sorry about that.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Angel said.

“Course not. You’re a suffer-in-silence type. But I’m gonna make it up to you.” Spike reached between them to rub Angel’s cock where it strained under wool slacks. “You just sit back, yeah? Enjoy the ride.”

If Angel wondered at the determined look in his eye, he said nothing. Spike popped his slacks open and slipped down to the floor, jacking Angel all the way, rubbing his thumb back and forth over the head, spreading the fluid found there.

“Wait, what are you doing?” Angel almost whined. He clamped his hand over Spike’s, stopping a premature explosion.

Spike looked up innocently from between his knees. “Want to play a game,” he said, “Daddy.”

Angel bit his lip, grateful that he had his hand on his cock or he would have come right there. “What… what kind of game?”

“Gonna see how many times I can make you come tonight.” Spike pried Angel’s hand away from its tight grip on the base of his cock. “Daddy,” he said again, with almost vicious coyness, and licked just the tip, slow and languorous. Angel shuddered. Spike took the head into his mouth and hummed, his hand pumping now where Angel’s had restrained, relentlessly building up pressure to the edge of pain.

“Spike, don’t, I’m gonna…”

“Go ahead. Come for me, Daddy. Want to taste it. Give it to me.” He started licking in wide strokes, mouth hanging open, taking him in with great sword-swallows. Once, twice, and Angel came, spurting great gobs that Spike let hit him in the lips and on his tongue, licking it up and smearing it around lazily.

Angel’s cock twitched, wanting to come again already, wringing itself out. He leaned forward too, his lungs emptied. “William…”

“Don’t punish me, Daddy. You said I could do whatever I wanted.” He pouted, batting his eyes in exaggerated innocence. “Can baby play his game?

Angel made a small, strangled sound and looked confused, like he was trying to sort this out. Spike crawled back up his lap, his hand carefully staying on Angel’s cock, he worked it between his own legs, straddling Angel’s lap high, he rocked with his motions, as though he were getting himself off and not Angel. “You’re so big and strong. You get hard so easy and I love the way it feels. Wanna see how many times you can shoot off. I bet it’s a lot. I bet it’s amazing. And I’m gonna taste it every single time. Wanna see how much I can take. You wanna do that, Daddy? Gonna let your boy play? Gonna fill me up so much I taste you every time I breathe?”

Spike was writhing now, rubbing Angel’s still-hard dick against his own, against the seam of his body, back and forth as he rocked his hips and rose up and down. It was too much for Angel, as he felt the head of his cock once again nudging between soft cheeks he grabbed onto Spike’s hips and slammed into him hard.

Spike cried out, between gritted teeth, but immediately started fucking himself onto Angel, a hard, punishing pace. “Fuck me. Come on, come on you bastard, fill me up. Now! Harder!”

Angel was only too happy to comply. His hand slipped in sweat and dug hard around the bones of Spike’s hips and still Spike demanded harder and harder, jack-hammering, his own hands clutching under Angel’s arms to bring more leverage. Fingernails cut and the sweet tang of blood mingled with sweat and semen.

Angel cried his release, his vision flashing red and blank, he fell back panting, sure he was completely spent. Was he on the couch still? The floor? The ceiling?

He slowly became aware of reality – of his sweat making the suede cushions slick, and Spike’s satin skin sliding down his torso, and then – exquisite agony! – a gentle tongue laving his over-stimulated cock.

“No… Spike… that’s enough.”

Spike let his tongue trail over tumescent flesh as he raised his head. “Just cleaning this blood off you, Sire. Then we’ll go again. Game’s hardly started. You came twice at lunch today, didn’t you? Hardly even sporting to stop there.”

Angel closed his eyes, wrinkles of concentration forming between his eyes as Spike worked him once more to fullness. “You’re being willful, William.”

“So punish me.” Spike slithered up Angel’s side, pressing his body against him while his hand continued its work. “For every time you come tonight, I’ll take a forfeit. You can do whatever you like. Dress me up. Gag me. Tie me down. I could be nothing but an object all day tomorrow, blindfolded, tied, bent or spread however you want, open for you whenever you want. Use me and then just leave me there. Always ready for you. Would you like that, daddy? Would that teach your little boy a lesson?”

Angel thrust up into his grip, though he kept his eyes closed and his hands dug hard into Spike’s shoulder and arm, leaving bruises.

Spike fought his way up to lick Angel’s ear. “Let’s see how long it takes me to jack you off. Nothing but my hand, and no stopping. It’s gonna hurt. I can already feel the strain in my wrist. You like that? Me hurting myself just to get you off?”

It did. He grabbed Spike’s jaw, twisted his head cruelly to keep their faces an inch apart, watching him for signs of stress as his hand hammered up and down relentlessly. He felt him grit his teeth and his breath starting to come labored as his forearm began to tremble, soon the shake was all the way up to his shoulder and Angel thrust hard into the tight cavity of his fist, grunting his release again.

Spike shook his arm out, his head sagging against Angel’s grip. “Fuck. That did hurt.”

“Lick it up. You wanted to taste it.”

Spike’s nod was dejected, almost tired, and he bent, licking the joining of his thumb and forefinger where it rested against Angel’s cock. He was slow and thorough, his hand still, his head moving all around. “What next? You want to fuck me again? Yeah?” He sounded like he was discussing options for a second course at dinner. He rolled Angel’s soft member with his wrist, trying to get the kinks out, perhaps, as well as start on round four. “Come on, Sire. You can do it. Bend me in two.”

Angel suddenly twisted his hips, throwing Spike under him. His eyes bored down at him, opaque and flat. “It doesn’t matter if you tire me out, Spike. The doors won’t open for you anymore. I had security program them.”

Spike’s mind blanked. “I… I wasn’t.”

He couldn’t stop his features for relaxing with despair and Angel’s eyes narrowed at the confirmation of his suspicions. Angel wrenched his arm cruelly away from his groin and pinned it by his head. “I will have to punish you now. Why do you do this to me?”

Spike shook his head frantically. “Just wanted to go downstairs. Just for a second.”

“Why would you have to go downstairs?”

“Just wanted to see Wes. Give him a message. I forgot, see, to tell him something.”

Angel shook his head slowly. He methodically moved to pin Spike’s wrists and legs. “If you want to give someone a message, you can give it to me, and I’ll tell them. What message could you possibly have for _Wesley_ that you couldn’t tell me?”

Spike opened and closed his mouth. His brain refused to provide an answer.

Angel’s grip on his wrists grew tighter. “You weren’t fucking him, too, were you?”

“No! I swear! Not Wes! I just… wanted to tell him about Illyria. She said something strange.”

Angel waited for an answer, incredulous and patient.

Spike closed his eyes, trying to will his brain to think, damn it. “She said something about unicorns, coffee cups, and time running out. I think it might be important. Tell Wes? Time is running out.”

Angel was unmoving. Spike dared open his eyes and saw his ponderous frown. Which just looked at him for a long, long moment. Spike found he was tensed all over. He forced himself to relax, to sink under the hard grip and body over him.

And perhaps that was what Angel was waiting for, because then he shifted, sitting up. “I try to be reasonable. I try to be nice. But you’d rather use some whore’s tricks to get around me than trust me, Spike. What am I supposed to do?”

“Sire, I’m sorry. I just… didn’t want to bother you.”

“You bothered me. And now we have to spend the night punishing you. Are you going to be a good boy and go kneel by the bed?”

Slowly, Spike nodded. Angel stood and stepped back, leaving him to get up on his own and make his way to the bedroom, where he knelt, hands behind his back, near the restraints.

There was no more talking, only a sharp gasp as Angel wrenched his arms high to chain them tight and attach them to his collar.

***

Angel was exhausted. He kept blinking and losing focus. Spike had really put him through his paces all weekend. Sometimes it was hard, living up to a reputation for punishment. But the boy had to learn to behave. Even if they didn’t have much time left. Especially then! You would think it would be easy to behave, knowing you only had to do it for so long.

But he had looked beautiful, this morning, all trussed up over the ottoman. Angel had found some nice new restraints online – thick bands around the widest point of the thigh to keep the leg folded on itself. Spike’s legs had never been his strong suit, but with his calves pressed to his thigh and the band of dark suede accentuating the trembling muscle, they were breathtaking. And his feet had always been lovely, and having them upturned like that, like lily-flowers. They were sensitive. He could tickle and scratch them for hours, tease and torment and whip them, and all of Spike’s body would thrash and vibrate and muffled pleas would come from around the ball-gag with wet sputters as his mouth inevitably filled with drool.

Spike had taken his punishment so beautifully. The lash-strokes were already fading, but they still lent him a wild appearance, all tiger stripes and collars and chains. If Angel could just get through this meeting, convince Gunn that whatever it was wasn’t happening, he could go back upstairs, admire his beautiful boy, take a nap, and then fuck him.

Just as Spike had asked, he was treating him as an object – gagged mouth and plugged ass, he’d pick one end, fuck it, and then re-plug. No conversation, no kissing, much as he might want that, he’d have to deprive himself a little while. Angel figured the punishment could go until Wednesday. And it would probably take all day Thursday for the boy to recover the use of his limbs, which meant Friday…

Gunn cleared his throat extra loudly. “We need to act on this now.”

Angel blinked at him. Gunn had been going on about some demon mafia or something, strongly implying that Angel should take care of it personally – with a trip to Italy! There was no way he could leave now. Not while his boy still needed him. Family had to come first. “No. Not without a full risk analysis. We don't want to be rushing into this thing half-cocked.”

Gunn dropped his hand holding the file. “As opposed to the full-cock that's been working so well for us?”

“You got something you want to say?”

Gunn’s expression was pure ice. “Just don't wanna lose another baby with the bath water... boss.”

Angel stood, straightening to his full height which, try as he might, didn’t tower over Gunn. Charles met his glare with placid resentment.

“You got something YOU want to say?” Gunn challenged.

The phone rang. Angel sighed. “I’m busy, Gunn. I don’t have time to have you questioning my every executive decision and I don’t have time to traipse off to Italy. Hello!”

This last shouted into the phone.

“Sir. It’s covert ops – Operation Cookie Dough?”

“I don’ t have time for Operation Cookie Dough.”

“Yes, sir, but you said you wanted to be contacted immediately if the girl in question was seen with non-humans.”

“Wait, Buffy? Who was she with? Or what?”

“It’s The Immortal, sir. She’s been out with him. Two nights now, two different clubs here in Rome.”

“The? Wait – did you say THE Immortal, or AN immortal?”

“The Immortal, sir. Himself. There’s no question he’s chosen the slayer as his latest conquest.”

“I’ll be right there. No, meet me at the airfield.” Angel slammed down his phone.

Gunn flicked his eyes to the phone and back to Angel, no longer bristling with animosity.

“I think I’m going to take that case after all,” Angel said, snatching the file folder from Gunn’s hands.

***

Wesley and Lorne were sharing drinks and depression in Wesley’s apartment when Gunn burst into the room with a smile a mile wide. “Angel’s leaving. Tonight. Come on. He’ll be out of the building by the time we get there.”

Wesley was the first to recover from shock and stand up. “What? Where’s he going?”

“Italy!” Gunn ran in place, a little victory dance. “I was trying all morning to get him to agree to handle this sensitive case himself, but it turns out all he needed was an ex-girlfriend to obsess over.”

“You managed to swing Angel-cakes into another affair of the heart?”

“Guys? You’re sitting here like an AA meeting while Angel is leaving the building. Do I have to spell this? We can get Spike out!”


	28. While the Boss is Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Splindsey this chapter! And some general silliness on Spike's part, but we'll forgive him, right?

Spike had no idea how long it had been. His world was reduced to the pain in his stretched joints, trying to move a tiny bit this way or that to relieve one at the expense of the others.

Angel hadn’t blindfolded him, at least. Not since that first night, when he’d put the hood on him and left him without sound, sight, or smell for hours. He had almost cried in gratitude when it came off. And Angel had kissed him, then, once, soft lips and gentle face.

And then he’d said, “I don’t need to blindfold you, William. It doesn’t matter what you see or hear.”

He was right. After a full day staring at the same corner of the room, he might as well have been blind. He didn’t want the warning of Angel’s approach, or to see his cool disregard.

The elevator opened with the usual sound, and despite himself Spike tensed all over. He closed his eyes.

And immediately opened them when he heard not one, but two sets of footsteps, moving quickly.

“Oh my god! I knew bossy was kinky!”

“Just get him out of that, Harmony, and save the color commentary.” Wesley crouched in front of Spike, and Spike squeezed his eyes shut again, flushed with the humiliation of being seen like this.

Wes’s hands went straight to the back of Spike’s head, unbuckling the gag. He could feel Harmony’s cooler, thinner hands, too, undoing the buckles on his legs.

“Kind of a shame,” she said quietly.

Wesley carefully removed the prodigious gag from Spike’s mouth, setting it on the floor with a distasteful frown. It was an over-sized cock gag, and dripping in saliva. Spike yawned, flexing his sore jaw and enjoying the rare, ticklish sensation of being able to feel the roof of his own mouth again.

“Can you walk?” Wesley asked.

“Dunno. Fuck. Wes, wait. What are you doing? He’s gonna come back and…”

“Angel is detained, and Harmony has the security tape looping but we must move quickly.”

With a snick and a “Ew,” from Harmony, Spike’s wrists were freed. He gasped at the returning sensation as his arms dropped, dead weight at his sides.

Harmony marveled at the discoloration of his skin, running her hand over his shoulder blades. “Wow. Would you look at that? I mean, look at that! And we’re not even supposed to have circulation!”

“Wes, wait. I got to tell you. Angel, he told me. He told me his plans.”

“You’ll have plenty of time to fill us in while we’re leaving. Harmony, I can get the rest. Find him some clothing.”

Wesley’s strong, firm hands helped Spike up enough to turn and sit on the low footstool he’d been tied over. “No, no, Wes. You don’t understand. This black thorn circle – Angel wants in. Not because he’s evil. He wants them to think that, but he’s going in to destroy them.”

Something like hope crossed Wesley’s features. “Cut off the Senior Partners by eliminating their middle men. Ingenious. It could work.”

Spike sighed, not wanting to ruin that hope. “But he’s got to sacrifice someone, Wes. Someone close to him. That’s me. Angel has to kill me to get in. He has to get in to learn their identities. You see how it is? Someone’s got to die; it may as well be me. I’m… I’m not much good, really. Hell, I’m dead already. Should’ve died twice now.”

While Wesley considered this quietly, they heard Harmony at Angel’s closet, hangers scraping the rod as she flipped through shirts. “Black, black, black… can you say ‘monotone’? Just because a guy’s a vampire…”

“Just grab something,” Wes said, sternly.

“No. No, Wes. Don’t grab anything. You gotta leave me here.”

Wes tilted his head back as though trying to see Spike more clearly. “You are out of your mind.”

“Maybe.” Spike half-smiled. “What’s he gonna do, Wes, when he finds I’m gone? Who was number two on his list, do you suppose? You? Charlie?”

Harmony ran up, a little breathless. “I found maroon, it’s the best we can do.” She held the shirt in front of her.

Wes stepped back and stood slightly behind Harmony. “Put on the shirt, Spike, and come with us. If Angel kills someone he cares for, even to save the world, I think it would be the end of him.”

“I doubt that,” Spike said, but Harmony was already pulling Angel’s maroon shirt around him. He looked diminished, child-like in the large shirt.

“We’ll find another way to defeat the Black Thorn Circle,” Wesley said, firmly enough that he sounded like he believed it. “And I’ll not hear another word about it.”

Spike’s knees wobbled as he tried to stand, with Harmony’s help he limped after Wes and out of the apartment.

***

Lindsey was grateful, all things considered, to be back in the holding cell. He kept waiting for Angel to show up and maybe break a finger or something for old time’s sake while he was in the piss-ugly secure hospital room. But while his arm was still broken and he’d had yet more stitches put in, he hadn’t suffered too much permanent damage in his last bout with the son-of-a-bitch.

He laid on his bed, enjoying the view of the security camera, and wondered if he was actually going to get a chance to heal this time.

Which thought stopped the moment he heard movement outside his door.

Fuckin’ Angel had made him scared of shadows. He struggled to get himself upright, leaning back against the wall and facing the door – as strong a position as he could make. His features he composed into a contemptuous smirk, prepared to meet his possible death or at least dismemberment with a resounding ‘fuck you’.

And then Charles Gunn walked through the door. Unarmed, one hand in his pants pocket, dressed for the courtroom. “Lindsey,” Gunn said, inclining his head. “I don’t like you. Point of order I think you’re a dick. But a friend of mine is in trouble and you’re going to help him.”

“My, my, strong opening statement from the defense. You got any evidence to back you up, counselor? Because right now, I’m more inclined to sit on my ass than help any of you fuckers.” Lindsey raised his broken arm. “No more freebies until Angel stops using me as his chew toy.”

“Actually, I think this case you’ll want pro-bono. It’s Spike.” Gunn nodded smugly at the change in Lindsey’s expression. “I’m going to bring Spike in here, and you are going to convince him to leave. I’m prepared to offer your freedom as an incentive.”

Lindsey struggled to hide his shock. “To him or me?”

“He likes you. He’s asking about you. So use that influence and talk him out of this martyr complex he has going. Think you can do that?”

Lindsey blinked. “Yeah. Hell yeah, I’ll take the case.”

“Good. You have an hour.” Gunn turned on his heel, the door opening.

Wesley stood with Spike, one hand on the vampire’s arm as though he was a prisoner. Wesley and Gunn exchanged looks that clearly said Wes did not like this plan.

But then they were gone, and Spike was alone in the room with Lindsey. He was wearing a maroon silk shirt – really not his style, and jeans that were too long, pooling around his bare feet. Spike shrugged. “Angel’s out of the country. The mice are playing while the cat’s away.”

Lindsey nodded. He couldn’t bring himself to talk. He hadn’t realized how unprepared he was to face Spike again. He felt… angry. So he clenched his teeth and held it in, because the last thing he needed was to get into a shouting match with another vampire.

Spike fidgeted with his oversized clothing. “So, yeah. Wes and Gunn, they wanted me to talk with you. See, I have to stay with Angel. You get that, right? He’s planning on killing me, and I know it, but I told him I’d stay. He’s, well he’s had me break my word with him too many times. This time I’m gonna stand firm. And maybe it’ll all be worth it. You know, save the world and stuff. But Charlie, he thinks you’ll talk me out of it. Don’t think he understands about you and me. We’re not the sort of blokes go running from danger. We’re the pillocks run right at it.” Spike smiled a little, shyly, and rubbed the back of his neck. He looked up, concerned at Lindsey’s continued silence.

Lindsey said, “Gonna ask me how I’m doing?”

“Right. Sorry. Uh… heard you were doing better. I’m sorry, Lindsey, sorry about all that. With Angel. Wasn’t right, him taking it all out on you.”

“You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.” Lindsey shook his head. “Look, I’m a little pissed at all this, so let’s cut to the chase. Gunn said he’d let me out of here if you leave. So either you love me and want me safe, or you stay here and play martyr. That’s all the argument I’m making.”

Spike blinked. “Charlie, he, he has to get you out if he can. They’re not vindictive people. If you can get out, let’s get you out. But I have to stay, Linds. Have to see it to the end. Angel, he’s sort of my responsibility now.”

“You’ve gotta be the densest sonnabitch I ever met. You and Angel deserve each other. You can both die for the world together. But me? I’m not a martyr and I’m sick of being treated like one.” With a grunt and a little unsteady turn, he got to his feet. “Get me out of here.”

Spike looked hurt, his jaw settling hard. “Right.” He turned and knocked on the door.

He was aware of Lindsey standing behind him – it wasn’t that large of a room, and even standing as far as he could, Spike could feel his heat.

“That’s it then? All I hadda do was ask?”

There was commotion outside the door. Spike frowned, catching snippets of conversation. The door opened partway, Gunn standing with his face turned down the hall. “We’re having a little trouble with the goon squad. Tell me you’re finished and we’re leaving.”

“Lindsey goes. I want him out of here, safe.”

“What about you?”

“Charlie, I told you…”

Wes ran into view, gasping a little as he put his hand for support on Gunn’s shoulder. “Someone’s locking down the exits, we have to leave now, or not at all.”

Spike stepped back. “Take Lindsey. Get him out.”

“No!” Gunn glared. “We have one opportunity and it is for YOU, blondie.”

“And then what? What happens when Angel gets back? You gonna fess up to taking his favorite toy away? What if he decides that someone has to pay for that? Who do you think is going to pay?”

“Damn it,” Wesley said, “It’s now or never. Come on!”

Spike took hold of Lindsey’s good arm and pushed him toward the door. Gunn held his hand up. “No. No, man, we can’t work it like that.”

“Bastard!” Lindsey tightened his one good fist. “I’ve told you all I know already. Ain’t no reason to keep me here.”

A shadow passed over the hallway. Wesley looked back to see a guard talking to another. He cursed under his breath. “Stay here,” he said, and jogged toward the guards.

Gunn met Spike’s anger with an intractable expression. “Angel will more than freak if Lindsey leaves, too, and he will go after you.”

“Fine.” Spike stepped back, out of the doorway. “Then I just want some time to say goodbye.”

Gunn nodded and closed the door.

There was a heavy moment of silence. “So you’re leaving me?” Lindsey asked. When he was met with silence, his voice rose a little. “You know what Angel will do to me, when you show up missing?”

Spike squinted at him like it was the stupidest question he had ever heard. “I’m not leaving.”

“Oh. Then what is this for? I mean, we’re nuts, meeting again like this. For what? Someone has to get out!”

Spike cupped his hand over Lindsey’s cheek, and even in his anger, Lindsey couldn’t help but turn into the touch, ghosting his fingertips on the cool, smooth palm.

“No one gets out. I’m sorry about that, Linds. But at least we get to say good-bye.”

Lindsey grabbed Spike by the back of his head and pressed into him with a hard, hungry kiss. It went on longer than was normal for a breathing human, and Lindsey gasped in the edges of his mouth, little stolen gulps of air as he greedily tasted the other man’s mouth.

When he finally broke away, he asked, “Why do you wanna die so bad?”

“It’s not…”

Lindsey’s jaw was set. “Yeah, it is. Dyin’s easy, isn’t it? You’ve already played that card twice and got away with it. Why not again? Cut yourself free, no living with the consequences. Nice. Real nice.”

Spike stared at him. “I’m talking about sacrificing myself for the greater good and you’re makin’ it come out selfish?”

“It is selfish. You’d leave me mourning you. Me and who knows who else.”

Spike looked down. “Just you.”

Spike was rocked back by a hard fist to the jaw.

“Don’t talk about my friend that way,” Lindsey said.

Spike rubbed his cheek. “Bloody hell, Texas!”

“You want more of that? I might be in a cast right now but that doesn’t mean I can’t bend you over my knee.”

Their eyes met, sparking fire, but Lindsey’s lips twitched, and then they both laughed helplessly. Spike put his arm on Lindsey’s shoulder and they leaned together.

“We’re pathetic,” Lindsey said.

“No, mate, we’re what pathetic takes pity on.”

“No,” Lindsey said. He cupped Spike’s face. “No, that’s bullshit. You’re magnificent, Spike. Funny and smart and full of life. Who could pity you?”

“There is that imminent death thing,” he said, thick eyelashes flicking up and down.

Lindsey’s response was a slow, mapping kiss. He stepped backward, taking Spike with him by the hand on the back of his head, until his calves hit the bed. “You’re alive now, ain’t ya?”

“Undead.” Spike shrugged.

Lindsey’s good hand fumbled with the buttons on the front of Spike’s shirt. “Your ‘undead’ is more alive than any ten people I’ve met in my life.”

Spike kissed Lindsey as he frowned in concentration, trying to get the buttons undone one-handed. Spike’s fingers closed gently on his and took over, easily slipping the buttons free. “It’s Angel’s shirt,” he said.

“Good. Leave it on. We’ll desecrate it.” Lindsey slid his hand under the silk, down the cool contours of Spike’s chest.

Spike stiffened. “No,” he said, stepping back and shaking his head. “We can’t. I swore…”

Lindsey pushed his cast behind Spike’s shoulder, trapping the vampire in an embrace he couldn’t break without hurting him. “You swore what? To be true to the fucker who raped me?”

Spike shook his head rapidly. “I don’t… I can’t change what he’s done, or forgive it or...”

“Then quit letting the fucker into the room,” Lindsey said. He kissed Spike quickly with an upward flick. “You’re here, with me.” Another kiss and a hard look, as though Lindsey was trying to see right through him. “And if we never see each other again, I’m for sure not going to regret this moment.”

This melted Spike. He sank into Lindsey’s embrace, mouth opening against his.

“Careful!” Lindsey almost toppled onto the bed, but Spike’s strong hands caught him and laid him down carefully while the vampire mapped kisses over his shoulders and chest and neck and jaw, tracing out the evidence of every injury he had suffered and planting a soft kisses like seeds in ravaged soil.

There was some awkwardness, lifting Lindsey’s wounded side to unwrap the Velcro ties of his hospital gown when they got caught on the edge of the plaster cast, and then Spike shimmying out of his too-large pants, tripping, and falling nearly on top.

“Bugger!” Spike accidentally hit Lindsey’s bruised ribs with his elbow and the man curled on his good side while Spike caught his bare foot on the bed-frame. “I thought… hell, isn’t this supposed to be perfect?”

“It is,” Lindsey said, smirking, and laid his hand on Spike’s chest. “Now get down here so I can kiss you.”

Spike smirked and took his time, slowly and carefully lowering – in a rather uneccessary undulating manner to boot, while Lindsey craned his neck and snapped kisses and bites at the air in anticipation of touching his sweet, smooth skin. Like white chocolate poured over muscle, sweet depths of promise in each contour.

They left the silk shirt on.

Lindsey was frustrated, wanting to caress Spike’s chest, wanting to help hold their cocks together as Spike leisurely fisted up and down just a little too loosely, wanting to grab his lover’s hip and urge him to fuck his fist harder, faster, wanting to feel that silky hair… damn it! Two hands would have been too few, one was just insulting.

Spike chuckled mercilessly at his little whines and protests, and started to move down, between Lindsey’s legs.

“Wait. Lube. I got some antibiotic cream in the drawer there. Should to the trick.”

Spike nodded and stepped one foot off the bed, stretching to reach the drawer.

His chest and right nipple were right over Lindsey’s mouth so he delightedly nipped at it. Smooth, cool flesh, so perfect, and the silk hanging down around his face, creating red shadows.  
“Guess I’ll have to be on the bottom,” Lindsey said. “Not in any shape otherwise.” He kissed each part of Spike he could as the vampire secured the cream and slipped back into place between his legs.

“I want you to top.”

Lindsey squinted. “It doesn’t really matter, either way.”

“An’ that’s why.” Spike kissed the plumy head of his cock and licked it thoroughly, taking it into his mouth and sucking eagerly while Lindsey lifted off the bed and cursed.

“Spike! Jesus. You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me.”

“No, mate, gonna make you live.” Spike bit Lindsey’s muscular thigh, sroking the downy hair with one hand as he opened the antibiotic and started smearing it. There was a sharp medicinal smell to it, but it was slick, all right, and he supposed the safest damn lube he’d ever used, treating tears as they came.

He fisted up and down Lindsey’s cock, slowly, than faster, enjoying the slick feeling in his hand, the head softer and conforming to his palm as he rotated his wrist over it.

“Fuck! Spike! Stop or I’ll come right now!”

Spike reached down, tugging Lindsey’s balls lightly, sending a shiver through him. “Won’t let you get off that easy. Relax, mate, you’re in good hands.”

And Spike set his legs straddling Lindsey, settled down and lifted himself up, running the slick head down his own crack, up behind his balls and back along the seam of his body, just to enjoy the sensation before he found the opening and settled the cock in place, bearing down slowly, carefully.

They both sighed in satisfaction as their bodies met again, fully sheathed.

“I get to hold this,” Lindsey said, smacking Spike’s hand out of the way so he could fist his proud, full cock where it jutted into space between them.

Spike had his eyes half-closed. He nodded as if drugged and set a languid pace, his abdomen fluttering and the tail of the silk shirt ghosting teasingly over Lindsey’s thighs.

“I love you. I fuckin’ love you,” Lindsey said, tilting his head back, eyes shut. He pumped harder and harder with his fist, and Spike’s pace quickened to match. They moved perfectly together, a steady ramp up of desire and need and fulfillment until the air was filled with gasps and grunts and the slick sound of skin against skin.

Spike’s cold seed hit Lindsey’s stomach just seconds before he tipped over the edge, his orgasm wrenched form him by the powerful clench of muscles around his cock.

Spike leaned down, kissing and licking the sweat from his cheeks. “All done. You all right? It was good, yeah? I… you want me to, I dunno, I could be on the side here… just a second…” He carefully lifted and extracted himself, reaching down to catch Lindsey’s cock before it flopped wetly against him.

Lindsey grabbed his arm, stopping him as he was twisting to settle on his side. “You’re still afraid I’m going to kick you out afterward? Shit, but someone’s done some work on you, Spike.”

“No. Just want to be sure you’re comfortable. That’s all.” Spike shifted carefully, setting his hip down first on the mattress next to Lindsey’s. He ran his hand over Lindsey’s belly, through sweat and cum, wiping it smooth.

“Don’t you know how gorgeous you are?” Lindsey turned his head, eyes intent until Spike met his gaze. “How strong and brave and fuckin’ sexy? I fell in love with you the moment I saw you, no lie. And it wasn’t just your looks. It was how you held yourself. How you drew in a breath before speaking, like even air was delicious to you, even breathing was an act not to be taken for granted.”

Spike raised both eyebrows. “Bugger this,” he said. “I’m gonna live. And you, too. We’re both getting the hell out of here, come hell itself. Come on!”

Half off the bed, his shirt hanging around him like a bedraggled banner, he held out his hand. Lindsey wrapped his firmly around it.


	29. Power Play

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter! Possibly the penultimate chapter, kids! (Yeah, I so plan these things out!)

Spike strode to the door and pounded on it. “Oi! Charley-boy! Percy! Open up. We’re leaving.”

Lindsey staggered on one foot, yanking his good hand from the vampire’s grip. “Let me get my paper pants back on!”

“I don’t mind bein’ starkers if I’m free,” Spike said, hammering the door again.

Lindsey had time to twist and contort his way back into his hospital gown while Spike pounded, paced, and then, with a strangely thoughtful expression, put on his own pants.

“They aren’t coming,” Lindsey said for him, sitting on the edge of the bed. “We dicked around too long and now we’re fucked.”

“No,” Spike said. He ran a hand over his face and looked pleadingly at the door as though it would give in and produce Wes or Gunn.

“Come sit your ass down by me, will ya? The pacing’s making me dizzy.”

Spike leaned hard against the wall, trying to get as much of a view down the corridor through the narrow window in the door as he could. “People are moving out there. I see shadows. Damn these walls are soundproofed, or I could hear the fuckers.”

“Sit down. Next to me.”

Spike turned.

Lindsey shrugged. “They have to come through that door if they’re coming to get us, right? I may be beat to hell, but I’m not weak, and neither are you. We can stand, Spike, you and I can stand up a hell of trouble together.”

Spike nodded, twice. He knocked his fists together. “Right. Together.”

He only made one step toward the bed, however, when the door opened.

Gunn winced as the vampire whirled, checking himself with his fist half-way to his face. “Good to see you, too. Come on, we have to move now. Security is on to us and they are not happy. Think Angel’s personally cut every last pair of their balls off.”

“Lindsey comes with or I stay here.”

“Fine. I give. Let’s just GO!”

The three of them made it four paces down the corridor when they encountered a row of security personnel, armed.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Gunn. We can’t allow the prisoners to be removed without proper authorization.”

It was a stand-off, instinctively Gunn, Lindsey and Spike moved so their backs were together, eyeing the security guards. More came in from the other end of the corridor. The circle advanced slowly, shoulder-to-shoulder, weapons out. “We’re not going to hurt anyone,” the leader said. “Mr. Gunn, stand down. We’re returning the prisoners to separate holding cells until Mr. Angel returns.”

“Under whose orders? I am an executive vice president and in the CEO’s absence…”

“Mr. Angel made his orders very clear, sir. We have authority to kill Mr. McDonald if he’s too much trouble to re-secure.”

Lindsey dropped out of a fighting stance, raising his arms. Immediately guards were on him, dragging him back and away from the other two.

Spike tilted his head toward Gunn. “Get Harmony and Big Blue if you can convince her godliness to assist, and you take out the security heads before Angel gets back. These morons just follow orders, right?”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Make it simple! I’m gonna be hanging by my bollocks until you fix this.”

The guards took Spike’s arms and started cuffing him and pulling him away from behind as they had with Lindsey, controlling hands on his shoulders and upper arms. Spike shook them away, once, and ran back to Gunn’s side. “Go. Now. They aren’t tryin’ to secure _you_. Get Blue. Get Harm. You know where I’ll be.”

Gunn, looking stunned, nodded.

“I have faith in you, Charley,” Spike said as he was pulled away and into a holding cell.

***

Wesley paced his office. The anti-spying illusions were in place and running. “That was a disaster. At least Angel hasn’t returned yet. What intelligence do we have on his mission?”

Gunn scratched the back of his head. “None. Every communication has been short and, frankly, weird. He’s trying to get his ex-girlfriend back from some guy and get the Capo’s head at the same time.”

“Bugger,” Wesley said, and rubbed his forehead.

“Spike said we should target the head of security. He seemed to think Harmony could help, or Illyria.”

Wesley put his hands on the desk, staring at the blotter between them, eyes moving back and forth rapidly as though he was drawing a war map with his mind.

“I think it’s the only logical step,” Gunn said, shrugging. “I’ve already had my aid pull all the relevant company policies and procedures regarding prisoner custody and release. And the chain of command for security.”

“Then that will be your role.” Wesley’s eyes raised at last. “We went about this too quickly. We have a team and should be attacking all fronts at once. Get Harmony. Fill her in on what her role will be. I’ll speak with Illyria, though with luck we won’t need her help.”

“Wait – what’s Harmony going to do?”

Wesley smiled.

***

Hamilton was feeling smug indeed. Angel’s ‘evil index’ was up a full fourteen points since he’d taken over as liaison for the senior partners.

The little team mates were a problem, especially with that little nearly-coordinated escape attempt. He was glad he’d reminded the security chief about Angel’s fondness for Spike and eagerness to punish minions for failure.

That was a close one. Keeping Spike around was really helping the old evil quotient. There was a compatibility of faults between the two soulled vampires: nice thick martyr streaks, mutual feelings of inadequacy, debt, regret, fear, and that thick, juicy resentment.

They were doing his job for him.

With a contented sigh, Hamilton went back over the security reports, checked the live camera feeds to be sure everyone was scattered, not plotting. Disaster avoided, the boss due back any day now. He might make it home early tonight.

“Ahem!”

He looked up and gaped.

Angel’s personal assistant stood against his office door, her little pink dress littler and pinker than usual, and she had her hands behind her back in a way that pushed her heavy breasts nearly out of her neckline. “Hey cutie,” she said. “I, like, totally forgot my keys this morning. Give a girl a ride home?” She tilted her neck and batted her eyelashes.

Yeah, leaving early was looking like a great idea.

***

Gunn strode into the security office, a handful of papers raised high. “With the approval of three department heads and the oversight officer, in absence of the CEO, I am appointing myself the new head of security.”

He threw the papers down on the desk in front of the duty officer, who stared at them with appropriate shock. “Uh…”

“Go ahead, check with your supervisor. In fact, call him in here. I took the liberty of printing out the relevant governance documents for your convenience.”

***

Wesley always felt both awed and angry when he approached Illyria, or maybe it was some new emotion all its own, so mixed up it couldn’t be registered on a scale in any one direction because it pointed every direction at once.

She tilted her head at him, granting him that minor curiosity that was all she could offer.

“We need your help,” he said. “Angel has become a problem.”

“He is back,” Illyria said.

Wesley blinked. “I’m not sure what you mean. Angel has lost sight of the mission.”

“I mean that your leader has returned from his journey.”

Wesley dropped his hands. “How do you know that? You see him?”

“Yes.” She tilted her head back. “His car drove past this window and into the storage bay below the building.”

Wes almost laughed, having been caught assuming it was a supernatural gift that informed Illyria of Angel’s presence. He leaned on one of the lab benches. “This isn’t good.”

“Betrayal and treason are in all cultures the ultimate sins, receiving the greatest punishments. No man loves a traitor, but a misguided ruler invites them to his side. Angel has ceased to pay attention to the issues of his kingdom, his eyes only turned inward. Tell me, Wesley, what will you do?”

Wesley raised his eyes to meet her unnaturally wide, blue ones. “Rot in hell,” he said.

***

Spike sat on a length of chain. There was not getting around it – they’d shackled him hand and foot and the connecting chain just would not move out from under his bum, no matter how he shifted.

He was in a holding cell identical to the one Lindsey was in. Identical to the one he’d been in before. He hoped this time would be his last.

If his heart could beat, it would be racing. He wished he had some way of knowing, well, anything. What Percy was doing. What Gunn was doing. How close they were to getting it together – whether they would keep their word and get Lindsey out too.

How far away Angel was from coming home.

***

“Angel!” Wesley ran, breathlessly, through the lobby, catching Angel at the door to his office.

“Where’s my secretary?” Angel gestured at Harmony’s desk. “She’s supposed to be there until five.”

“I… I don’t know.” Wesley leaned against the reception counter, a hand pressed to the stitch in his side and trying to catch his breath. “We didn’t expect you back so soon. But I’m glad to catch you. There’s an urgent matter…”

Angel waved his hand at Wes. “I don’t want to deal with it right now, Wes. I just want to sit in the dark for a while. Besides, Spike’s probably very eager to see me.”

Wesley’s eyes narrowed, realizing that Angel had intended to leave Spike tied up in that uncomfortable position for all the time of his departure.

Wesley then had to run again, to catch Angel as he went into his office. “I don’t think this can wait, Angel.”

Angel was halfway to his private elevator. He turned, looking very tired, shoulders drooping. “What is it?”

Right. What was it? Wes racked his brain. “H-Harmony! Yes. Harmony has been very suspicious lately. I’m concerned she may be leaking information to Hamilton. They seem to have gotten close.”

“Harmony is incompetent, Wes.” Angel shrugged off Wesley’s best attempt at a restraining grip without even looking like he noticed it and continued to the elevator. “I think she’ll be just as incompetent a traitor as an ally.” He stepped into the lift and turned to face Wes as the doors closed. “And I’ll remind you it was _your_ idea to promote her.”

Wesley felt the tiny breaking-glass feeling of a new migraine starting as the silver doors closed on Angel’s smirk. “Oh fuck. Oh bugger. Oh bugger-fuck.” He ran a hand through his hair and was not surprised to find it sweaty. What would Angel do? How guilty would Wes, himself, look? Pretty guilty. Oh fuck.

He fumbled out his cell-phone and dialed Gunn.

Who answered with a cheerful, “Operation petticoat is underway. Did you get Agent Not-Orange onboard?”

Wesley bit his lip and made a mental note to ream Charles out about the ridiculous spy-banter later, should they survive. “Angel’s back.”

Gunn let out a short, quiet stream of curses. “Man, we were so close.”

“I need a distraction. An emergency.”

“I got nothing. What would distract him from a very obvious and very interrupted coup-d’etat? I’m thinking we need a nuclear air strike or worse.”

Wesley could practically hear the pacing and gesturing. “Stay in security. I- I’ll think of something.”

He closed the phone and shoved it in his pocket with irritation.

The doors to Angel’s elevator opened again. Angel stepped out and gave Wesley a look cut of granite. “Where is he?”

“I have no idea…”

“Never mind. I’m going to security. Stay right where you are, Wes. You won’t like it if I have to come looking for you.”

Wesley ran his hand through his hair again. “A plan,” he said to the empty office. “A plan would be really good, right about now.”

***

Harmony ran her hands over large, rock-hard muscles and giggled. Hamilton was easy, strong, and smelled _wonderful_. She loved her part in the plan! Being a team player was fun!

“What are you laughing about, girly?” Hamilton gripped her waist in his big hands, flipping her over, he leaned down, trying to look threatening but just coming off dead sexy.

“Just amazed I never did this before,” Harmony said, running her feet up and down his muscular legs.

***

“I see that my methods aren’t working.”

Spike was frozen in place, unable to form a thought or word as Angel walked in the open door and stood in front of him.

The door closed behind him. Angel put his hands in his pockets and leaned against it. “Is that my shirt?”

Spike looked down at the loose, wrinkled maroon silk, it hung open at his sides, revealing his chest that rose and fell rapidly. “I’m sorry, Angel. But this – we ain’t working out, are we? This relationship isn’t healthy anymore.” He steeled himself for the coming blow.

It didn’t come. He risked a glance up. Angel was still leaning against the door, looking at him for all the world like they were waiting together, perhaps in line for a club or concert. Spike shifted his shoulders and the chain dangling from his wrists chimed gently against the fabric, hitting his back.

“I went to see Buffy,” Angel said. He shrugged. “Want me to tell you what we talked about? What she said about you?”

Spike swallowed down the rising shame: Angel’s tone made it perfectly clear what was said. But he could be lying. It was only another weapon to him, another barb to stick in too-thin skin. “Rather more interested in getting out of these cuffs, Peaches.”

“Yeah, about that.” Angel stepped forward until his shadow covered the younger vampire. “You fucked him. Again. I can smell it from here. I’m not surprised. I’m not even disappointed.” His hand was gentle, caressing, down Spike’s cheek and under his chin, urging him to look up. Spike tried to twist away and the hand became mercifully hard, forcing his jaw into position. Still he kept his eyes lowered rather than meet Angel’s gaze, his nostrils flaring as he breathed hard, humiliated.

“Tell me, Spike, what I’m supposed to do with you now? I’ve given you all the attention I can, all the toys you wanted, all the love I have to give. And you hurt me. You willfully hurt me, again and again. Why do I put up with you?”

“Maybe you shouldn’t.” Spike finally looked up, eyes blazing. “Maybe you should just leave me in this cell until it’s time to send me off to your thorn-circle mates. Or dust me and be done with it. I’m not playing anymore, Angel.”

“Playing? Am I playing?” Angel’s fingers carded hard through Spike’s hair, leaving sore trails on his scalp. He took a good fistful and jerked the head back, so Spike’s throat was fully exposed, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he tried to swallow back his fear.

“You can let the fuck go of me.”

“Oh, did you find your balls up Lindsey’s ass? I wondered where you’d left them.” Angel lifted Spike by his hair, drew him, though he struggled, into an intimate embrace, one hand trailing down his body and flicking open the button of his jeans. “I’ve been too nice, blinded by my love for you, you ungrateful little shit. It’s time to remind you who and what you are.” His hand plunged into the opened jeans, grasping Spike’s cock in an almost painful grip. One squeeze, and it stirred, already filling just from the pain. He gave a condescending smile to Spike. “I’m going to make you beg and plead. You’ll promise anything for me to tie you down and make you my whore.”

Spike tried to twist out of Angel’s grip. He knew it only turned the old man on more, but he had to try, chains or no chains, disadvantage, weakness.

He tried not to think that he could escape this if he just wasn’t so weak.

He tried to keep his body from reacting to the unwilling pleasure Angel’s expert touches were bringing him.

“Not going to beg. Never again. You had your last, Peaches. Hope you enjoyed it.”

“I did, and you will.” Angel brushed his cheek against Spike’s. “You know you’re going to beg for me. You always do. Because you’re weak. Just like you can’t keep your dick in your pants for two days while I’m away. You have no control, Spike. It’s just not in you. That’s why you need me to take care of you. Tell me, baby, tell me how much you loved being tied down. Wasn’t it a relief? Not having to make decisions, not having to worry about accidentally falling down under some random cowboy?”

Angel’s voice was rising from a low growl to angry bursts, and his hand kept up its ministrations in time to his words.

Spike bit the insides of his lips and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to feel nothing, hear nothing. He wasn’t going to give the bastard the satisfaction.

“You know I always do it good for you, baby. I provide for you. I care for you. So explain to me why, in return for all my unselfish love and devotion, you run off and fuck. Lindsey. Why? Why do you throw it in my face and fall on your knees for him? What did he ever do but scheme and plot against me?” Angel was nearly shouting. He paused, drawing in a breath to reign himself in. He breathed hard into Spike’s ear, wanting to push his mouth into it, his teeth, force the words into his brain like a dagger. “When you know,” he said, “that he really wants me.”

Spike made a broken gasp, and tried to turn it into a laugh. He renews his efforts to twist free. “You’re crackers. Think I’d fall for that old chestnut? Lindsey hates you. Hates the thought of you.”

“And we both know that fine line so well, don’t we?”

Spike spoke through gritted teeth, now sweating against the assault. “Jog on. Not playing.” He felt disgusted; loathe to feel Angel’s body against his, wanting his skin to harden or thicken or something so he wouldn’t have to feel through it, while at the same time he knew his traitorous cock was reacting just as Angel wanted. He knew – knew, damn it – that erection was not the same as consent. Or even arousal. But that didn’t stop the pre-programmed shame, and he knew Angel would play on it hard, and he, git that he was, would believe every word he said.

“You love this, dirty filthy cunt that you are,” Angel said. “I know that’s what this really is about, isn’t it, Spikey? Acting up to get my attention focused on you. Well, you have it. I’m going to make you beg. Go on, tell me how badly you want it, how empty you feel without Daddy’s cock inside you. Tell me what you’ll do to deserve to feel me get off. All those filthy little promises you’ll make will be caught on the surveillance tape, and then you can sit and watch it over and over, baby boy, while Daddy gets some real work done. Like finally killing one more lawyer.”

“No. Please, Angel. Don’t.”

“Mmm,” Angel tilted his head, his attitude that of one appreciating beautiful music. “And you’re starting already.”

Spike’s struggles were growing weaker, he felt helpless, his shoulders sore from straining against his bonds, the chain digging hard into him, and inside he was cold and sick, already breaking his vow not to beg. Knowing he was weak. “He’s innocent. In this, at least, Angel. I know… I know he hurt you, but this time, it was all me. I made him do it.”

“Did you?” Angel’s eyes were black with lust. Abruptly, he pushed Spike away from him. With his arms bound behind him, he had no recourse but to fall hard on his back, the chain rattling against the metal bed-frame.

Angel still didn’t look angry, or even perturbed. He took off his own shirt and then, with a few casual, rough flicks of his fists, moved Spike into the position he wanted on the bed. And then he crawled over him, fists sinking into the hard, industrial mattress on either side of Spike’s head. “Time to talk, Spike. Go ahead: save Lindsey’s life. He won’t thank you for it, considering the life it is, but I won’t kill him, if you’re a good boy and tell me every little thing I want to hear.”

“You’re a prick.”

Angel smiled a little and shook his head. “That wasn’t it.” He started to shift his hips slowly, humping ever so slightly against the body below him. “You know the words. The ones echoing in that empty little head. You’re worthless. You hate yourself. You love me. You want me to push all the nasty thoughts away with bright, perfect pain, and make you just a fucktoy again.”

Spike stretched his neck. His throat felt so tight with anger and humiliation that he doubted he could get air through it, much less speak.

“Tell me.” Angel slowed his assault, a hint of desperation in his eyes.

“I would do anything,” Spike said, “for love.”

Angel blinked, waiting. He was no longer grinding, petting, forcing any contact but the heavy weight of his body, just holding his position of dominance. When nothing followed, he asked, “And you love me?”

“And you know,” Spike said. “You know how I am, an’ that’s why I let you get away with so much, until it’s too late. Shoulda been harder on you, Liam. Shouldn’t have been… so damn needy.”

“Your little boyfriend is going to die, Spike. I don’t think you’re taking this seriously.”

Spike coughed. “Seriously. You’re using a threat you don’t want me to respond to. Not supposed to care, am I? Supposed to be all about you.”

“At last, you’re being honest with me.” Angel brushed his cheek with his thumb, curling his fingers around to lift Spike’s head from the mattress. “Now we can begin.”


	30. Fade Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, kids. The last chapter!
> 
> I know! I sobs! I didn't want it to end!
> 
> As always, feedback much appreciated. Let me know if the ending works or if I need to tweak it somewhat. warnings for violence, a tiny bit more Angel mind-gaming and of course a little bit of Splindsey!

“Angel, don’t.”

“Sh.” Angel rubbed the pad of his thumb over Spike’s tightly closed eye, feeling the crinkled join of flesh, the gentle brush of the eyelashes. He licked the sweet salt tear from his own skin. “Open your eyes, Spike.”

Spike shook his head.

Angel ran his thumb over the other eye, pausing at the fullest swell and pressing. “I control what you see. I control _if_ you see.”

“I’m not going to do it. No more, Angel. No more giving in. Not going to beg.”

“But you are. You know you are. You always give in. The only difference, baby, is this time you aren’t begging forgiveness. You’re beyond any hope of that. You’ll be begging for my pleasure, begging for the right to continue being my whore, because you’ve given up all right to being more than that, haven’t you?”

Spike shook his head, or tried too, against the hard grip Angel had on the back of his skull. The thumb went over his eyelids again, pressing hard, causing starbursts and flashes.

“Open. Your eyes.”

Spike felt himself want to obey, and want to hold firm. The body above him was familiar, the position too often repeated. His eyes slit, wet, the light starting through them, and then a crash sounded.

The door to the cell broke inward, falling on its broken hinges. Illyria stepped delicately over it. “Desist immediately.”

Angel sat up, one hand flat on Spike’s chest to hold him still. “Illyria? What is this? And did you have to knock the door down? There are things called ‘knobs’.”

“My Wesley has entreated me to ‘take you out’. I am fond of Wesley and wish to assist him. Furthermore, you make plans that are foolhardy and not to my advantage. I forswear you as a leader.”

Angel blinked. “I – you – I was your leader?”

“In so much as I allowed you dominion over your own poor kingdom, half-breed,” she declared, and, with far too casual a motion, lifted Angel into the air by a handful of his shirt.

With an equally casual shove, she threw him across the small room. A particle-board tray-table broke apart as he landed on it.

Spike drew in a breath and blinked, not quite sure he was seeing what he was seeing.

“Security!” Angel gasped, brushing bits of board off his arms as he rose. He clenched his fists and took a step toward Illyria. “Back down,” he said. “Or we’ll bury you in concrete if we have to.”

“I find it amusing you think your minions capable of this. Even if they were, your law-master has the warriors in hand, half-breed. There will be no intervention on your behalf.” She punched.

Angel rolled under her reach. He kicked her leg, which, characteristically, did nothing to phase her. She turned, taking another kick in the gut, and a punch in the jaw. She batted Angel’s arm away and he howled in pain.

She adjusted her grip, both hands on his neck, elbows raised to twist.

“No – no, Leery! Don’t kill him.”

Illyria turned to see Spike stand, lurching against the lack of balance with his hands bound behind him. “Don’t kill him,” he repeated.

“He usurps my pet as his own. He mocks me with his indifference. How should I suffer such a creature to live?”

“Sometimes I wonder myself. But we’ll leave him, Blue. Just let’s knock him out.”

Illyria stood there, Angel dangling from her fist like a jacket she was considering purchasing or throwing away. “I am unused to your puny physiology. How shall I incapacitate him without ending his fragile existence?”

“I have an idea,” Spike said. He tiled his head form side to side, cracking the top vertebrae. He walked up to Angel and locked eyes with him a moment.

“Spike, whatever…”

“Shush. Not going to be anything you haven’t asked me to do before. Daddy.” With a grimace he shifted into game-face and plunged his fangs into Angel’s neck, drinking as quickly and deeply as throat and stomach would allow.

Spike’s head spun from so much blood so fast, but he kept sucking and gulping greedily until he felt Angel stop struggling, hanging listlessly in Illyria’s grip.

He stepped back. “Go ahead and drop him, now, love. Can you do something about these chains?”

“You are soiled with gore,” Illyria said, imperiously, but she dropped Angel, who crumpled to the ground, and stepped behind Spike, snapping the chain between his wrists and then the one between his ankles.

“Thanks, pet.” Spike rolled his shoulders.

“I am not the pet, you are my pet,” she corrected.

“Sure.” He crouched to lift Angel up by one arm.

“Spike,” Angel said, weak from the beating and blood loss, he struggled to get his feet under him. “You can’t… you were supposed to love me.”

“This right here? It’s out of love, mate.” He reached back and punched Angel square in the jaw, knocking him out.

Illyria stood where she was, poised as ever, looking above and beyond the now-wrecked room. “Why do you spare him, vampire? He is not worthy of your loyalty.”

“Don’t ask me right now.” Spike shook his fist out. “In fact, never ask me. Ask Wes. Was that true, what you said about the security team?”

“My Wesley has orchestrated a coup. He has great potential. I will make him an administrator in my new world.”

“Bloody wonderful. Come on, Blue.” He stepped over the wreckage into the hall.

“Where are we going?”

“To spring Lindsey.”

“I have no interest in this mortal. Wesley’s entreaty was for you, alone.”

“Then I’ll entreaty. Entreat.” Spike sniffed the air, walking slowly down the row of holding cells. He stopped in front of one, peering in its narrow window.

Lindsey stood up from his cot, looking back at him with mixed hope and fear.

“Knock this door down, would you, love?”

Illyria raised one eyebrow, waiting just long enough to verify to all present that she acted only of her own volition. “Very well, I will indulge my pet.” With one fist she pushed the door over.

***

They’d only stopped long enough to liberate Lindsey’s clothing and help him get dressed, but to look at Wes’s face, they’d dallied an hour.

Wesley stood behind the desk in Angel’s office, the phone cradled to his ear, the other hand writing furiously. “Yes, effective immediately. Well, you’ll have to ask their liaison, and he appears to be unavailable. No, I…” Wesley glanced up to see Spike, a smear of blood still on his chin and a drying trail of it on his chest. Lindsey stood behind him, smug, head back as though the whole situation has been his own orchestrating. Illyria stood behind him, as always calm and unaffected.

“I have done as you requested,” Illyria said, and, promptly turned and walked off, clearly her time for dealing with insignificant mortals at an end.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Gordor, I have a more pressing engagement.” Wesley set the phone down. “Angel?”

“Out cold, but bugger if I know how long that will last. He’s a tough bastard.”

Wes nodded, once. He gestured for them to follow as he headed to the private elevator. “Yes, well, you’ll forgive me if I say the sooner we get rid of you two the better.”

“No complaints here,” Lindsey said.

After he hit the button for the ground floor, Wes got out his cell. “Gunn? Yes, is the exit cleared? Where do you bloody think I’m taking them out – through the garage.”

Wesley rolled his eyes. “He’s taking care of it. Wait… yes? Thank you. No, I’m not being snippy. Angel is unconscious. Where?” He glanced at Spike.

“Holding cell – look for the one – er, one of the ones with a broken door.”

“Did you get that? Right. I’ll call when they’re away.”

The elevator opened into the basement. Lindsey went straight to a box on the wall. He beat the flimsy lock off with the elbow of his plaster cast. An array of keys shone in the yellow garage lights.

Wesley tucked his phone in his pocket and pointed. “The motor pool is just through there. Take whatever you like. It’s daylight still, but the necro-tempered glass will protect you.”

“No, we’re not going to the motor pool,” Lindsey said.

Spike snorted. “What, you wanna walk?”

“We’re going to the impound lot.” Lindsey straightened from the key board, an unremarkable leather tab keychain held triumphantly aloft. He curled his fingers around the keys sharply, making them click together. “Come on, I remember where it is.”

Lindsey led the way, jogging down the rows of cars to the back exit of the garage. Spike had to stop at the edge of sunlight, skidding on his toes, hands waving comically. “Lindsey! Have you forgotten I’m dead?”

Lindsey kept running. His white hospital gown was almost too bright to look at in the noon sun, he turned and jogged between cars.

Wesley, who had walked rather than run after them, approached behind Spike. “What the devil is he doing?”

“Getting a car,” Spike said, as if this was intuitively obvious.

They both heard a door slam, and then a choking sound of an old motor reluctantly brought to life, coughing, wheezing, moaning, and then roaring heartily.

An old-model pick up turned almost too sharply around the row of cars. It was that tomato-soup orange that red paint turns when left in the sun for forty years. And it barreled down straight toward them, headlights and windshield gleaming, charging at them like a horse all caparisoned.

“He’s not going to stop,” Wesley said.

“He’ll stop.”

“He’s not.” And both men jumped out of the way as the pick-up roared into the garage, stopping with a squeal right where they had been standing.

Lindsey leaned across the seat, cranking the window down. “Hop in, gorgeous.”

“You’ll fuckin’ kill me in that! Look at the size of those windows! It’s a bleedin’ death-trap.”

“You can feel the sunlight in the seats,” Lindsey said.

Spike blinked, shrugged, and opened the door.

Heat radiated from the cracked leather, scorching through Spike’s thin jeans. He gasped, half in pleasure, half in pain, all in delight. The heat seemed to banish a memory of a thousand wrongs from his flesh and leave it clean and pure again. Like the fires of the hellmouth.

Lindsey’s hand was no less hot as it reached and gripped his knee. “Don’t you go creaming your jeans just from the feel of my baby’s interior. Now hang on tight. This stick shift’s gonna be fun one-handed.”

Spike looked from Lindsey’s broad grin to the bright rectangle that marked the front entrance to the garage. “Uh, Lindsey, pet, love – you do know I burn up in sunlight? It’s a vampire thing, might have seen it in movies?”

“Relax, darling, there’s a horse blanket behind the seat. Throw it over your head and get down low, you should make it as far as we’re going.”

Spike twisted around. Sure enough, wedged between the old bench seat and the rear wall of the cab was a neatly folded length of course wool. He pulled it out and hurriedly threw it over his head. Outside of the truck, Wesley was pacing and talking into his cell phone agitatedly. “Right. Two questions. First – is this all a ruse to get me to put my head in your lap, and second, where are we going?”

Lindsey shifted out of park, holding the steering wheel with his knee as he did. “To answer the second question first, there’s only a quarter tank of gas so I’m guessing the Sunoco by the expressway is our first stop. After that, well, we’ll take it by ear.” He put the truck into gear and threw Spike a grin, his eyes glinting in reflected sunlight. “And the answer to the first question is ‘hell yeah!’”

Spike adjusted the blanket around his head, holding out for a moment to smirk at Lindsey. “You’re gonna pay for this when night falls.”

“God, I hope so,” was the reply.

Spike re-arranged his blanket with a smirk, and lowered himself.

Lindsey nearly let go of the steering wheel, the truck jolting hard over the speed bump at the end of the drive. “Sonna – Spike, we still gotta REACH the Sunoco! Driving one-handed here… I…”

His only answer was the slow vibration of his jeans as teeth brushed over them and latched onto a button. Teeth chimed against metal and fabric pulled as in short order his fly was undone, and the thin fabric of his boxers were doing little to mask the sensation of wet lips, teeth, and tongue playing over him.

Lindsey gritted his teeth, trying to concentrate on merging into traffic. “If we survive this drive, I’m so gonna kill you.”

***

Angel sat across from Wesley in a bare conference room. His hands were shackled, but loosely enough that he could set them on the table or hold a pen, if they gave him a pen to hold. There were some documents in front of him, and he could push them around and read them, but he wasn’t too interested, at the moment, in reading.

The paper-like fabric of the shirt they put him in crinkled as he moved.

Gunn stood behind Wesley, his arms crossed in front of him. “I’m sorry. You have been relieved of your duties, Angel, for mental health reasons. Until the senior partners appoint a new CEO, I will be acting in your stead. Wes?”

Wesley nodded, and Gunn walked out of the room without a backward glance.

“Wes, you have to stop this. There’s nothing wrong with me.”

“I’m afraid there is. Do you recall what you did to Spike?”

Angel raised his hands as far as he could. “It was Spike. He’s…”

“A sentient being. I will be in charge of evaluating you, Angel. If you are ever to return to work, you will think carefully about your actions, and the moral ambiguities you’ve indulged in.”

“I don’t need a head shrinker, Wes. I just need some time. I had a plan. It was going to work. Don’t you see? All of this… this evil, it has to be worth something. In the end. We have to have made a difference.”

“No, Angel, I don’t see.”

Angel despaired. There was no warmth in Wes’s expression. He was carved of ice, and immovable.

He drew his notepad close and uncapped his pen. “Let us start, shall we, by talking about your father?”


	31. DVD extras!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I did with Mad Queen of Cleveland, here are my notes that I wrote prior to starting CF.
> 
> You can see how oh so very far ahead I planned the plot. *snicker* And I do apologize to everyone for turning away from the Spangel to the Splindsey - it just happened! I swear! Trixsy fairies or something... blame Dru! yeah.
> 
> Author comments added in brackets. ;)

Spangel

[See? See? I really did intend it to be Spangel! That was my whole first concept!]

What shall I call it? Something harrasment sexual office – blah.

 

Confessional? Reconnecting. Ah, a title will come to me. Something obsession y but not lame.

Wait – play on the daddy thing? Oh shudder! Father’s Boys? Wanting a Father? Daddy Angel?

[Title decision was quite delayed - as everyone looking at memories can see. "Compatible Faults" came to me just prior to posting part two. I think it's a very good title, though, worth the wait.]

Plot: Spike re-appears as per canon, gets made solid, yeah yeah, the Cup O’ Torment fight does happen.

Start with Angel getting over his injuries? Thinking about Spike. Mmmming about Spike.

Then I want Angel to make the first move? Angel tries to find out where he is, tries to force him to come back, uses W&H’s resources to keep him from leaving town.

(Need to look up a bit of canon, what happens in what order)

Then the full-on porn. Angel gets Spike alone in his office, drags him up to the penthouse and there is a great deal of shagging. Spike is emotionally weak after Lindsey’s betrayal is made public. He lets Angel fuck him good.

Angel laid his large palm flat on Spike’s pelvic bone.  
[As you can see, ideas for little bits of porny scenes are paramount to my planning process]

The next morning, he goes back to his apartment. Angel gets the apartment lease revoked, forces Spike to look for a place to stay. Talks to Fred or Wesley about it – Wesley tells him he’s working too hard. Spike isn’t as strong as he pretends to be, still hurting over his new soul. He’s trying to convince Angel to take spike under his wing, instead convinces him he can Get Some. 

Another porny scene and then I want Angel to stress Spike’s guilt, he leads Spike into a ‘confessional’ role-play.

“Say ‘forgive me father, for I have sinned.’”

He twisted. “Wot? You sad, perverted man.”

Angel lowered his chin, knowing how that made him look sweetly petulant, he kissed Spike’s shoulder slowly, open mouthed.

*Shudder* woo I’m liking that.

Okay okay, so the whole point of this is – I want Spike treated badly in a relationship, and his self-reliance and confidence slowly being whittled to nothing. Because that gets me hot. AND I need the scenes of others not knowing what’s going on, of Spike realizing he’s in a cage of his own making, invisible but unyielding.

I’ve gotta do the Connor incest thing because there’s something too hot about that. And I want to have some Spike/Connor too. ☺ Because if you can’t keep it in your pants…  
[Damn! I forgot about that. Ah well, will have to make a Sponner in the future. heh heh.]

“Brothers”. “All in the family” “Building family”

Shall it be Buffy-to-the-rescue at the end?

[Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. No, seriously. It coulda happened! Ash (and other slash fans) woulda spanked me, though.]

Right, so let’s start writing.


End file.
